


Per Aspera Ad Astra

by battybatzgirl



Series: Of This World [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Angsty Spock, Boys In Love, Established Relationship, First Contact, First Contact AU, Here we go, Jim and Bones in college, M/M, Mind Meld, Oblivious Jim, Oral Sex, Pon Farr, Porn With Plot, Vulcan Culture, Yep it's another Pon Farr fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-31 02:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10889718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/battybatzgirl/pseuds/battybatzgirl
Summary: One year after the aliens made contact with Earth, Jim Kirk gets a crash course in Vulcan culture when his boyfriend Spock goes into his first Pon Farr.*Sequel to Undiscovered Terrain





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO EVERYONE, I'M BACK, NOW WITH MORE GAY THINGS.
> 
> Okay. I just wanted to say, I love everyone who has stuck with this story. Thank you so much for validating my late night keyboard slamming! As a right of passage all spirk writers must go through, I finally gave in and did the obligatory Pon Farr fic. (Did you expect anything less, I mean really.) When I started writing this, I most certainly did NOT expect it to get this long. How long is it, dare I tell you? You'll just have to stick around and find out. ;P
> 
> That being said, you really need to read my other fic, [ Undiscovered Terrain ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10607232), which is part one of the [ Of This World ](http://archiveofourown.org/series/722115) series. (I learned how to link, can you tell?) But seriously you won't be able to understand anything unless you read that first. If you don't read it first, go for it, but you'll probably get very confused very quickly. 
> 
> I'd hate to keep you reading anymore of my rambling. Thank you, thank you!

The blaring of Jim’s alarm wakes him from his sleep. Not lifting his head from the pillow, he reaches with one arm to hit the snooze button, the rest of his body moving to curl around the heat of his alien boyfriend. When he finds nothing but a cold side of the bed, Jim squints his eyes open, then remembers.

Spock has been in Finland all week with all the other Vulcans, making diplomatic appearances the as peaceful aliens who came to Earth a year and a half ago. But it’s Friday, and Spock is scheduled to fly back this evening, so Jim won’t have to deal with a cold side of the bed for much longer.

Yawning, Jim drags himself up and moves around the bedroom, grabbing the first clothes he can find that don’t smell too terrible. He throws them on and grabs his phone and backpack before heading out of his apartment.

When the Vulcans made an official contact in Montana, the American government had been in turmoil, running around for coverage and trying to convey all the “We come in peace” messages possible. It really was only a few hours before other countries started sending over representatives, too. For a few days, the world hung in a breathless awe in the realization that human beings were not alone in the universe.

Jim watched it all on TV, his own alien by his side the entire time. In fact, Spock stayed out of the limelight pretty well until Sarek called him in to speak with them at a world-wide broadcast in Washington DC—an event at which Sarek more-or-less outed them as a couple for the entire world, using it as a diplomatic example of how humans and Vulcans had already been living together in peace for quite some time.

Jim received a fun call from his mom after _that_ went viral.

When the government bigwigs realized they overlooked a Vulcan in their whole Welcome-to-Earth-Please-Don’t-Kill-Us shtick—and a prince, no less—they tried to get Spock to move to the same accommodations they had given the rest of the Vulcans. But being a stubborn romantic, Spock refused to do anything unless Jim was involved. It made Jim’s heart flutter at the act of devotion and he tagged along on one or two of the diplomatic trips, but once his college classes started he didn’t have the time to do all the rest of the world-traveling to create treaties or whatever else it was Spock had to do.

Spock went back to refusing to be part of anything. Sarek tried to reason with him a few times, but Spock was relentless. Eventually the CIA stepped in to the familial tiff, and it was agreed if the government would sponsor Jim and make sure he was living comfortably in his college life, Spock would be present in a handful of the meetings and relations every month.

And yeah, it sucks to have Spock be away from him, but the free rent for the fancy apartment in downtown San Francisco makes it a little less horrible.

Outside the building, Bones is waiting for him like usual. As a third-year med student, he was always pulling all-nighters and volunteering for strange middle-of-the-early-morning shifts as the local hospital. The dark rings under his eyes had become more of a personality trait than a health concern.

“Good morning sunshine,” Jim greets easily, grinning at Bones’s grumbling reply.

“Too early,” he mutters, his southern accent thicker due to his exhaustion. Then, he glances around Jim’s side. “Where’s your little hobgoblin?”

“Still in Finland,” Jim answers, and they start walking down the descending hills of the sidewalk. Jim turns his face skyward and lets the cool breeze ruffle his hair. The layer of fog is thinner this morning, letting the sun peek through the mist and warm his skin.

“Did you study for Pike’s physics exam?” Bones asks, utterly ruining the moment. Jim scoffs.

“You kidding? Pike’s exams are easy.”

Bones looks unimpressed. “You didn’t, did you.”

“Nope,” Jim says lightly.

Bones rolls his eyes. “Y’know, just ‘cause you’re a certified genius doesn’t mean you get to act like an ass about it.”

Jim mock gasps, raising a hand to his chest. “What? Me? _Never_.”

“Keep it up, kid, one day you’ll flunk out because of your cockiness.”

“Wanna bet?” Jim challenges, switching to walk backward so he can look at his friend. “I bet I won’t get lower than a ninety-six on this. Looser has to buy dinner for a week.”

Bones’s eyes narrow. “Fine, but I’m just tellin’ you now there’s no way you can do it. I’ve heard the horror stories, Jim. Pike is ruthless.”

“Pike’s a pushover,” Jim says, shrugging. “You just gotta get on his good side.”

Bones shakes his head but nudges Jim affectionately with his shoulder. They pass a few more blocks and finally get to campus, the grounds already bustling with movement of students as they hurried to get to classes on time.

“Good luck,” Bones tells him, already heading toward the med building. “You’re gonna need it.”

“No I won’t,” Jim replies, grinning over his shoulder as they separate. “See you later!”

“You better bring me a sandwich!” Bones shouts after him.

Jim laughs, still grinning as he steps into the science building. Science wasn’t his strongest suit, but most of the time he could go to Spock whenever he had an issue. Apparently, the basic laws of chemistry and physics were fundamentally the same across galaxies, and Spock was _really_ good at chemistry.

Just thinking about Spock made Jim’s heart twinge. He has only been gone for a week, he should be able to handle being separated for this long. At times, Jim thinks he gets too pathetic about missing Spock so much, but when Spock gets back he reaffirms how much he missed Jim too, and after that everything feels better.

But he would be seeing Spock again this evening. Just as soon as this day is over. And theoretically, the faster he could get this exam done, the sooner he could run back to the apartment and clean things up, which he really needed to do.

Heading into the classroom, Jim takes his seat next to a kid named Chekov, a transfer student from Russia. Chekov’s accent is thick and kind of hard to understand at times, so Jim doesn’t try to engage him in a conversation today. Instead he smiles and nods in a greeting, and once the exam gets passed out, he gets to work.

Jim feels confident throughout the test. Pike liked to incorporate critical thinking into his exams, and that’s one thing Jim knows he’s a pro at. After all, he thought critically when an alien shuttle crash-landed in his backyard a year and a half ago. He didn’t believe in no-win scenarios.

He’s one of the first students to breeze out the door. He totally aced it. There was no way he didn’t; Bones would be buying him a year’s supply of pizza.

Jim heads over to the other side of the campus to rub his victory in his face. Jim has other friends, sure, but Bones is who he’s closest with. Ever since welcome weekend bar hopping and a drunk guy vomited all over Jim’s shoes who introduced himself as Len, they had pretty much bonded—the human way, not the Vulcan way.

Jim still isn’t sure what bonding necessarily is for Vulcans—Spock compared it to marriage once, but they never had an official ceremony or anything. Not that he thinks they need to have a ceremony, but it’d be nice to know if he’s married in another planet’s culture so they could actually tie the knot on Earth. And Jim knows if he asked, Spock would say yes—the love and affection they have for each other transcends anything he has ever felt before. Their connection went beyond Earthly limitations—literally.

He’s so wrapped up in thinking about Spock when he sees a familiar bowl cut he thinks for a second he’s imagining things. But no, that’s definitely Spock sitting on a bench in the center of campus, looking like he’s waiting.

Waiting for _him_.

Jim runs over, his grin uncontainable as he sweeps Spock up in his arms and kisses him. Spock stiffens in surprise, then relaxes and kisses him back.

“Spock!” Jim says, pulling back but not letting go of his thin waist. “I thought you were getting back tonight.”

“I requested to arrive early,” Spock answers simply, looking just as pleased to see Jim.

Jim grins. “Missed me that bad, huh?” he teases.

Spock nods. “I always desire to be in your presence, Jim. Additionally, this area of your planet has a much preferable climate than the country I visited.”

“Oh, now I get it. You’re just after the sun,” Jim says, rolling his eyes. “Gold digger.” He finally releases Spock’s waist and steps back. He knows Spock doesn’t like displaying affection in public, but sometimes it’s hard for Jim to keep his hands off him. He glances up and down at his boyfriend and his eyes go wide. “Wait, are you wearing jeans?”

“A change of apparel was suggested by Agent Hendorff to show compliance with the country,” Spock says. “He said it would be considered less intimidating if we wore similar fabrics to what the natives are used to.” Jim’s eyes go even wider.

“And you _listened_ to that guy?” Jim gawks. “How come a stuffy CIA agent get you do to things I’ve been begging you to do for weeks?”

“Because his statement was backed by sound logic,” Spock points out. “Your attempts to dress me in a material because you believe it to be aesthetically pleasing holds no merit.”

“A leather jacket, Spock,” Jim whines. “You’d look so _cool_. Besides, I hate that guy. He’s so stiff! I don’t know how you can stand being around him.”

“Jim,” Spock chastises, “Agent Hendorff was the one who allowed me to return this province earlier than scheduled.”

Jim purses his lips, then looks at Spock again. His legs look _really good_ in jeans. “Okay, fine,” Jim relents, tugging Spock closer by his beltloops and kissing him quickly. “I guess I don’t _hate_ him. Just a strong dislike.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, but Jim can tell he’s amused. Instead of pushing anything further, Jim steps away and gestures for him to follow.

“C’mon, we gotta go get Bones,” Jim says, leading Spock toward the med building. “He owes me.”

“Did Doctor McCoy steal from you in my absence?” Spock inquires, falling easily into step with him.

“No, no,” Jim says, shaking his head. “He lost a bet. And he’s not a doctor yet.”

“He is studying medicinal practices, is he not?”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t automatically make you a doctor. You have to go through like eight years of school first and then get a license—a fancy piece of paper that says your qualified enough to do stuff,” Jim explains.

“On Vulcan, healers are trained very quickly and put into practice almost immediately,” Spock notes. “Though those studying to ease telepathic and bond deficiencies study much longer, as the process holds much tradition and specific methodology.”

Jim snorts. “Yeah, I don’t think Bones would be a very good mental healer. He’d need like ten gallons of whiskey before he’d even be willing to listen to anybody’s problems. Especially mine.”

They arrive just as a class is getting out. As waves of student pour down the steps of the building, some stop their descent and openly stare at Spock while others whisper as they pass by. It used to irk Jim to no end—he didn’t want anyone to look at Spock the way _he_ looks at Spock. But as time went by and visits from the Vulcans became more frequent worldwide, seeing an alien became less of a life-altering experience and was just something cool to post on social media. But since Jim is technically dating one, people were used to seeing him surrounded tall pale creatures.

People, for example, like Bones.

When he walks down the steps, he notices Jim first, then glances over at Spock. “You’re back,” Bones observes, easily stepping over to them. “How was Finland?”

“My travel was satisfactory,” Spock answers, holding himself a bit straighter, “though I much prefer the climate of this area.”

“You like the beach?” Bones asks, raising an eyebrow.

“The temperature,” Spock clarifies.

Bones laughs. “You think this place is hot? Come to Georgia for a summer, you’ll sweat your eyebrows off.”

Spock’s eyebrows raise. “I do not believe that is physically possible for my species.”

“You never think it is until it happens,” Bones tells him, then turns to Jim. “What are you all smiley about?”

Jim shakes his head, not able to tear the grin from his face. He can’t help it—he _loves_ it when Bones and Spock interact.

Instead, he only acts a little smug when he says simply, “You owe me food.”

Bones swears.

~*~

Jim’s schooling district seems to always be bustling with activity. This area of the planet is crowded with people and buildings, unlike the sparsely populated fields where he and Jim first met. Spock misses the quiet, but it is clear Jim enjoys life in the city. Jim usually respects Spock’s preferences, but he it’s obvious he is excited about an outing, and Spock can hardly deny him.

It’s just that Spock is tired. His body seems heavier than normal—a peculiar feeling, since he knows Earth’s gravity is far less than that on Vulcan. But perhaps it is because of his recent travels that Spock is weary. This planet has a strange method of recording time; as Jim tried to explain to him once, time is split between different areas of the world based on the various daily alignments of the sun. Even after living among humans for more than a year, their methodologies continue to surprise him.

Jim and Leonard lead him to a smaller restaurant with outside seating. Jim immediately claims a table, flopping down on one of the metal chairs looking incredibly at ease. Spock and Leonard share a glance.

“I’m ordering for you, then,” Leonard guesses flatly.

“Yep,” Jim chirps, smirking. “Get me two subs, will you?”

“You’re not gonna stay thin if you keep eating like that,” Leonard warns, waving a finger at him. Jim brushes it off and he turns to Spock. “You want anything?”

Spock sits in the chair across from Jim. “I do not require sustenance at this time.”

“Get him a smoothie,” Jim says, keeping his eyes on Spock. He hears Leonard make a soft huffing noise before entering the establishment. As soon as he is gone, Jim sits straighter and leans toward him—not touching, but still reaching, his eyes bright and full of adoration. The small shift in behavior makes Spock’s heart flutter. “God, I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.”

“It has been approximately five point three of your days since we have been together,” Spock informs him warmly. “However, time passes faster on this planet than what I am used to.”

Jim’s eyes widen in interest. “How long are days on Vulcan?”

Spock purses his lips and considers. “My planet has no moon, and the shifting of the light cycles is different.” He is about to explain how there are two suns instead of one, but Leonard returns outside with two trays of food, placing one in front of Jim before sitting next to him and pulling the other toward himself.

“Don’t you love it when I’m right?” Jim teases, already unwrapping his sandwich. Leonard grumbles, which only makes Jim’s smile widen further. He places a small yellowish drink in front of Spock and says, “Try it, it’s made out of blended fruit.”

Spock doesn’t immediately obey, instead observing the substance inside the cup. But Jim’s attention is no longer on him; he’s already in a conversation with Leonard, speaking around a mouthful of food about a man named Pike and their courses. It seems they are in a conversation light years ahead Spock, leaving him behind in the wake.

Jim holds an interesting dynamic with Leonard. Spock knows they are close; though Jim is many years his junior, Leonard still spends time with him and keeps Jim in a healthy well-being when Spock is gone. But they seem to act…different today. Spock has noticed in the past how frequently they share in small touches, but for some reason today each tiny movement seems painfully obvious.

But he is being foolish. They are human, bonding in a way which is unique to their species. It would be illogical to think Jim is purposely rubbing the differences of their cultural beliefs in Spock’s face.

“…And then, that idiot had the gall to tell me I was wrong,” Leonard complains. “As if I hadn’t just caught him trying to nab a piece of a dead guy.”

Jim snorts. “Yeah, because stealing organs out of cadavers is definitely _my_ favorite pastime.”

“It happens more than you think,” Leonard refutes stubbornly. “It’s disgusting what these coastal people can make out a of a human kidney.”

“You don’t even wanna know what I can do with an ear of corn,” Jim teases, and Leonard pulls a face, making Jim laugh. The sound instantly warms Spock’s skin, but the joy of the feeling is quickly accompanied by a twinge of annoyance that someone else brought the sound out of him.

Spock instantly chastises himself for thinking so childishly. Jim is free to respond to Leonard however he wants. He must be more tired than he initially thought.

Spock is in the process of fixing the holes in his mental shields when a loud crash comes from inside the restaurant. The noise startles all three of them. Looking through the window, Spock sees a worker of the establishment on the floor, apparently having tripped and dropped her plates, now lying around her in pieces like a halo.

Jim is up in an instant, quickly stepping inside to help. Spock is filled with an adoration for his _t’hy’la_ , in awe of Jim’s ability to act so quickly in someone else’s distress. He’s perfect in every sense of the word. Spock watches as Jim offers the girl a smile and helps her stand. She smiles in return, but her hand lingers of his arm a few seconds longer than necessary.

Suddenly, something in Spock’s chest twists uncomfortably. Heat rushes behind his temples and he’s overcome by a stab of possessiveness and aggression—Jim is _his_ , not to be taken by another.

The change in his mood is so abrupt it shocks him. He tears his eyes away from the window and stares back down at the table. Just as quickly as it struck him, the tension dissipates, making Spock wonder if he only imagined the shift.

“Something wrong?” Leonard asks, apparently noticing his uncomfortableness. “You look like you just sucked on a lemon.”

“I assume that is a metaphor,” Spock replies, “but I hold no context to what you are referring.”

Leonard’s thin lips twist up in a smirk. “You look irritated.”

“I am not,” Spock counters, a touch haughtily as he straightens his shoulders. “Vulcans do not feel irritation, as irritation is an emotion which can lead to unfavorable outcomes.”

The human levels him with a look that reminds him of the expression Sybok gives him when he knows Spock has just lied to his face. “Right,” Leonard says. “Maybe it’s just jet lag then.”

“Jet lag, Leonard?”

“When you travel too fast and don’t leave time for your body to readjust to the right time zone,” he clarifies. “I’m sure even little green men like you can get fatigued.”

Spock is about to ask how he correctly guessed the color of his blood when Jim returns to the table. He slides back into the chair, glancing down at Spock’s untouched smoothie and frowns.

“Have you even tried it yet?” he asks.

“Your space minx is tired, Jim,” Leonard cuts in. “He doesn’t need you to pester him.”

“What’s with you with the nicknames lately?” Jim questions, raising an eyebrow. “I know southern roots are strong and all, but I think you’re starting to push it.”

Leonard makes a strange hand gesture at Jim, and Jim sticks out his tongue in return. Then, he turns back to Spock and bats his eyelashes. “Just take one sip and then we can go back to the apartment. I won’t make you do anything else for the rest of the night.”

Though his words promise rest, Spock feels Jim’s foot trail tantalizingly up his leg under the table. Jim’s gaze holds Spock captive, his smile playful and promising mischief. Spock quickly looks away but feels the tips of his ears flush before he can prevent it.

Wrapping his lips around the straw, Spock sucks the liquid into his mouth. It has a strange texture, and while the flavor is fruity, it is also cold and washes unpleasantly over his tongue. He must have outwardly expressed his displeasure, because Leonard laughs and Jim visibly deflates.

“I thought you’d like smoothies,” Jim says dejectedly.

“The substance is too sweet,” Spock tells him, swallowing quickly to get the flavor off his tongue where it seems to linger. Practically all food on Earth is too sweet, most of it being made with synthetic sugar which leaves a heaviness on Spock’s taste buds. He normally is able to shake the feeling of unpleasantness of foreign substances, but for some reason it causes the hairs on his flesh to rise.

“Okay, a deal’s a deal,” Jim says, standing. “We can go home. See you later, Bones!”

Leonard waves them off. As they start to walk down the sidewalk toward the building in which Jim holds residency, Spock is unable to shake the grittiness of the flavor and the chill on his skin.

And for the first time in a long while, Spock is struck with an aching longing to be on Vulcan.

~*~

That night, Jim feels a rush of cool air disturb his skin. Shivering, he goes to pull the blanket higher around his shoulders but can’t find it. Cracking his eyes open, he makes out the other figure on the bed wrapped tightly in the comforter—so much so only the tips of his pointed ears are showing.

Jim smiles despite himself. Spock was notorious for stealing the blankets in the middle of the night. It could be annoying at times, but it didn’t make him any less cute when he turned into a Vulcan burrito.

But the longer Jim looks, he starts to notice something that’s out of the ordinary.

“Spock,” Jim whispers, his voice rough from sleep. “Are you awake?” He reaches over and gently touches Spock’s shoulder. Spock flinches but doesn’t pull away. His eyes open, locking on Jim’s in the darkness.

“You’re shaking,” Jim says gently. “Were you having a nightmare?”

“I…” Spock licks his lips and looks uncharacteristically disoriented. “It seems my body temperature has dropped significantly.”

It takes a second for Jim’s sleep addled mind to translate. “You’re cold?”

In response, Spock shivers.

Jim gets up from the bed and digs through the closet to get another blanket. He throws it over his arm and then goes to the thermostat on the wall and cranks it up a few degrees.

“Jim,” Spock says, sounding like he’s preparing to protest, of all things.

“Spock,” Jim responds, heading back over to the bed and wrapping another layer around his shoulders. “Don’t even think about telling me it’s illogical for me to take care of you.”

Spock glares at him, but it’s hard for Jim to take him seriously with his chin barely peeking up over the covers. Jim places a kiss between his eyebrows and flops back down on the other side of the bed.

“Love you,” Jim yawns, then quickly falls back to sleep.

~*~

When Jim’s alarm goes off, he hits snooze and goes to curl around Spock, but is once again met with empty air. His eyes open in annoyance—what did he have to do to cuddle with his boyfriend in the morning, tie Spock to the bed?

(And _that_ mental image sure rouses the lower half of his body.)

Heaving himself up, Jim moves around in a bit of a haze, his body sticky with sweat. He’s confused for a second before remembering he raised the thermostat in the middle of the night.

That was...odd. Spock normally didn’t complain about being cold. Apparently, Vulcans could adjust their body temperatures mentally—or at least, that’s what Spock has told him in the past. It makes him wonder why Spock couldn’t have just done that. Maybe Spock was just too tired?

Jim doesn’t think much more about it and jumps in the shower. After he’s done getting dressed, he heads into the living room/kitchen to brew coffee, but finds it already made for him. He smiles to himself—Spock is a creature of habit, and though he doesn’t drink coffee, he started a routine of making it for Jim because he always drank it.

Jim had really missed that.

He pours a mug and peers over the counter. Spock is sitting cross-legged in the center of the living room, his hands folded together in the center of his chest, his eyes closed. The robe he normally wears whenever he meditates is circled around him on the floor, like he had it on but threw it off his shoulders. Of course, that leaves Spock shirtless, the expanse of his pale skin practically glowing in the morning light.

Jim’s libido is having a rough morning.

Spock’s face starts to look pinched at the soft noises Jim makes in the kitchen. Normally he doesn’t seems bothered by Jim’s small movements, but maybe Jim’s being too loud?

“Sorry,” he calls softly.

“Do not be,” Spock responds, not opening his eyes. “I am finding it…difficult to find peace of mind.”

Jim frowns. “Are you still cold?” He walks around the counter and steps closer. “You look flushed now.”

Spock opens his eyes. The browns of his irises are swallowed by how blown his pupils are. He looks at Jim with such an intensity that a shiver runs down Jim’s spine before he can stop it. “I am fine.”

“Okay,” Jim says, only slightly believing him. “Well, I don’t know if Vulcans can catch colds, but if you feel funky you can call me.” He puts his mug down and starts packing his stuff up into his backpack, moving around the apartment as he calls, “Do you remember how to use the cell phone Cupcake bought for you?”

“Communication by using satellite signal is rudimentary and simple to master,” Spock responds. Jim snorts.

“Somewhere out there the creators of Motorola are rolling over in their graves at the challenge of alien intelligence,” he jokes. He zips up the bag and throws it over his shoulder, standing but then stepping back when he finds a wall of Vulcan blocking his path.

Jim didn’t even hear him get up. “Spock—”

But he has no time to finish before Spock surges forward and captures Jim’s mouth in a bruising kiss. Jim stumbles back in surprise, dropping his backpack. Spock is quick to crowd him against the wall, cupping his chin and tilting it to deepen the kiss. When their tongues meet, Spock is demanding and takes over, kissing him with a fervor Jim didn’t even think was possible this early in the morning.

When the kiss breaks, Jim gasps for air, his head swimming. Spock didn’t kiss like _that_ until Jim gets him really worked up, and sometimes that took _hours_. This time it happened in a matter of seconds.

Spock latches immediately to Jim’s neck, nuzzling and pressing soft kisses just over his pulse. Heat starts to curl in Jim’s lower stomach, and he sucks in a breath as he tries valiantly to remember why he has to leave.

 _Classes_ , his brain supplies through a haze. _Homework. Actual responsibilities besides fucking the pretty half-naked alien._

“Easy there, tiger,” Jim tells him, gently pushing at Spock’s bare shoulders. “You have no idea how bad I want this, but I have to get to class.”

Spock shuffles back, but instead of looking offended or upset, he appears just as confused as he was last night. “I apologize,” he says, his voice breathy and Jim needs to leave _right now_ before he gets any more ideas. “I do not know why I acted in such a way.”

“I do,” Jim says, grinning impishly. “I’m too gorgeous for you to resist.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and Jim rolls his eyes, pushing off the wall and grabbing his backpack. “You know, one of these days I’m gonna get you to actually laugh at my jokes.”

“Highly unlikely,” Spock shoots back, his lips quirking up. The brown has returned to his eyes, his pupils no longer blown wide.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim waves him off, shuffling around him toward and door. “I’m an illogical human, but don’t think I’m still not gonna try.” He thinks of something and stops before stepping out, turning back around. “Vulcans don’t get colds, do they?”

Spock shakes his head. “Our immune systems can handle a greater deal of stress than a human’s. It is highly likely for me to suffer from an inflammation of the sinuses, as you keep referring to as a _cold_.”

Jim smiles, feeling relieved. “Okay. I just wanted to be sure.”

“I am fine, _t’hy’la_. I can assure you that your worry is misplaced.” Spock steps closer and offers Jim two fingers in a Vulcan kiss. Jim returns the gesture, then steps out the door.

It isn’t until he’s at the bottom of the stairs does Jim finally realize why Spock’s blown pupils had startled him so much. It reminds him when he first saw Spock, scrambling to get out of a wrecked spaceship, mysterious and unearthly. And for a moment upstairs, he looked like that again—like an alien.


	2. Chapter 2

The sound of rain was therapeutic. The gentle patter from Earth’s atmosphere drowned out all other sound from the city; it should be a perfect setting for meditation.

It _should_.

It’s the second day Spock is unable to find peace of mind, despite the tranquil setting. He has been trying for hours now to concentrate, but there was always something continuously preventing him from finding full focus.

When Jim left in the morning, it had been the rush of cool air from opening the door, flowing quickly into the room and settling on Spock’s skin like a layer of ice. He tied his robe a little tighter, but when that wasn’t enough to stop his body from trembling, he retrieved a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders as well.

The solution worked for a few minutes before his body overheated. Suddenly, it was as if every inch of fabric touching him irritated his skin, rubbing roughly against his flesh and practically burning. Tearing off the blanket and the robe, he resumed his position on the floor and closed his eyes, but the dreary light from windows seeped past his eyelids, causing another disturbance. Frustrated, Spock got up and closed the curtains, allowing his eyes to adjust to the near-darkness before sitting back down on the center of the floor.

Then the rain was too loud, causing a throb to build behind his temples.

The whole morning was a waste. Spock finds it illogical—practically annoying—that he is unable to focus, no matter what method he tries. He is restless, uncomfortable, and unable to shake the sensation of something foreign crawling just underneath his skin.

Spock has not had this much difficulty meditating since he was a child. The fact he cannot complete such a rudimentary task irritates him. Part of him wants to give up completely, but he needs to maintain a balance in his shields and emotions to be around other humans—especially Jim.

 _Jim_.

The thought of his bondmate sends a wave of euphoria through him, relieving the pressure on his temples momentarily before the pain comes rushing back, sharper than before. Spock grimaces, breaking his pose to drop his head in his hands.

Where could this be stemming from? Was there an Earth element he has been exposed to which was having an effect on him? His metabolism should automatically prevent any kind of foreign infection, as his immune system is biologically far better than any human’s. And there is no way he contracted a sickness from his home planet—he has not returned to Vulcan since the first contact with the humans. Spock refuses to be parted from Jim longer than he must, and still holds no intention of traveling galactically without him.

A different kind of ache builds in him, low in his stomach. Jim leaves him every morning and returns in the afternoon once his classes are over, following a schooling routine much like Spock experienced when he was younger. Spock knows Jim wants to attend classes to learn and expand his knowledge, but it… _hurt_ when he left. He did not enjoy time without his bondmate.

He wishes for Jim to be close to him, to always be at his side. He wants to see the way Jim’s eyes light up when he smiles, brighter than all the stars in their combined galaxies.

Spock feels something shift within him and his skin prickles. It is more than a desire to be in his bondmate’s presence—it is a deep _need_ , rooted in his core. He needs to have Jim, feel the press of his skin against Spock’s and watch him flush red from the blood rising under his flesh and hear Jim whisper his name, so sweet and desperate, because Jim is _his_ and no one else’s and he needs to mark and claim him and _he burned_ —

Spock jolts upright, his chest heaving. Just as quickly as the thoughts came, they disappeared, just like the instance at the restaurant. He feels shaken, unsure of where such possessive and practically animalistic ideas originated from. He has never thought of Jim with such a fierce mindset before, never felt the desire to _claim_ him.

It was…feral.

Jim is his _t’hy’la_ , not his possession. Spock holds no right to control what Jim did or how he felt. But for some reason, it’s the only thing he wants to do.

Unsteadily, Spock rises and steps over to the kitchen. He stumbles once and nearly trips when his foot catches on the edge of a counter. He goes to take a glass out of the cabinet to fill with water, but the container shatters instantly in his grip.

Spock jumps back, looking down at the mess of glass with wide eyes. He’s never lost control of his strength, especially in a way so careless. The crawling feeling returns under his skin and his temples begin to ache further, the sound of rain roaring in his ears.

He shakes his head, but it does not alleviate the pain. He only needs to attempt meditation again and his shields would right themselves. Everything would be fine.

~*~

Leonard sucks at economics. He sucked at it in high school, he still sucks at it in college. Why he had to take a course in economics as a GenEd when his focus is in physical therapy didn’t make any sense—at least not to him, or his sleep-riddled mind. The whole situation is made worse when Jim shifts in his chair and lets out a tiny sigh.

Again.

Leonard looks up from his textbook and glares at him across the table. Jim doesn’t notice, his eyes still on his laptop. Leonard would think he’s actually studying if it wasn’t for the crease between his eyebrows, the frown pulling down on his lips, and all those little sighs he’s been making for the past fifteen minutes.

Studying with Jim is either really great or really horrible—sometimes the kid didn’t say a word, focusing intently on his own work; other times he shoots smiles and grins at every passerby, somehow knowing every person on campus by name and making it his mission in life to ask about their day. It’s sweet but annoying as fuck when Leonard wants to focus.

Today, it’s neither of those scenarios. They’re in the top floor of the library, a supposedly silent study floor, but Jim keeps breaking that rule with those little noises of discomfort. Leonard has just turned back to his book when Jim does it again.

“Okay,” Leonard whispers, “ _What?_ ”

Jim looks up from his laptop, blinking innocently. “What?” he whispers back.

“What’s bothering you? You’ve obviously got somethin’ on your mind because you’ve been moaning and groaning the entire time we’ve been here,” Leonard says, his voice hushed.

Jim cringes and rubs the back of his neck in what Leonard recognizes as one of his nervous ticks. “Sorry,” he mutters. “It’s nothing.”

Leonard fixes him with a doubting look he may or may not have inherited from his mother, but Jim doesn’t offer anything else and he doesn’t prod further. They both turn back to their work, and Leonard just gets back into his reading when Jim sighs again.

Leaning forward, Leonard snaps Jim’s laptop screen shut, ignoring the quiet “Hey!” it gets him. Jim crosses his arms, but Leonard fixes him with the same maternal glare and this time he gives up, letting out a breath in defeat and slumping in his chair.

“I’m worried about Spock,” Jim admits softly. “He’s been acting weird.”

“He’s an alien,” Leonard deadpans. “He’s supposed to be weird.”

Jim shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. It’s like there’s something wrong; something’s making him act strange.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “Strange enough to kill you and eat you in your sleep?”

Jim rolls his eyes. “No, not like _that_. And by the way, his species is vegetarian.” Leonard makes a face, and Jim smiles. “Yeah, I know. But for the past couple days, he’s been really moody and clingy.”

“So you’re hobgoblin is PMSing,” Leonard concludes, cracking a grin.

“ _Bones_ ,” Jim whines quietly, “I’m serious! This morning we got into a fight about why I had to leave. Spock never starts arguments over stupid things like that. It’s like one minute he’s possessive and all over me, the next he’s distant and doesn’t want to touch me.” He pauses, pursing his lips, then adds, “I don’t think he’s been eating.”

That makes Leonard’s eyebrows shoot up. “Does he have a fever?” he asks, the medical training automatically kicking in.

“I don’t think so, but it’s hard to tell,” Jim says, frowning. “Vulcans have a higher body temperate than we do. But every time I ask him if he feels sick, he tells me his immune system is superior to mine and a virus from Earth wouldn’t affect him at all.”

“Is there someone else you can ask?” Leonard prompts. “Maybe another Vulcan?”

Jim makes a face. “None of them talk to me. They just kind of act like I’m not there.”

“But you’re dating one of their ambassadors,” Leonard points out. “Hell, you’ve gone on international trips with them a few times. Why would they ignore you?”

“I don’t know,” Jim sighs, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “They’re _different_ than Spock.”

“Well, what about his family?” Leonard tries again. “Surely one of them would talk to you if you think somethin’s wrong.”

“His dad is their king, he’s always busy,” Jim refutes, shaking his head. “I know he’s got a brother, but I’ve never met him. I don’t even know if he’s on Earth.”

Jim hesitates for a moment, biting his lower lip and glancing down at the table. Without looking up, he whispers softly, “What if I did something that’s making him act like this?”

Leonard’s heart twinges. Even though Jim is a positive person, it didn’t take long for Leonard to see that he blames himself whenever something goes wrong. He has a suspicion that stems from Jim’s home life in Iowa, but he figures Jim will come to him when he’s ready to talk about it. Still, the way he thinks of himself is sometimes unhealthy, but Leonard knows Spock usually keeps Jim’s self-esteem up.

But if Spock with acting all alien-ish and Jim doubting himself, the responsibility now falls to Leonard.

“Jim,” he says gently, “you and Spock balance each other out really well. I can promise you didn’t do anything. He’s probably just tired. You two have the kind of relationship other people can only dream about.”

Jim smiles softly, then quirks an eyebrow in a gesture that looks uncomfortably like a certain Vulcan. “Am I gonna hear the story of your mysterious wife back in Georgia now?”

“Ex-wife,” Leonard corrects automatically, cringing when he realizes he just volunteered more information. The kid has been pestering him about details ever since that one weekend when he offhandedly mentioned his ruined marriage after a few shots of tequila. That night, he learned something else about Jim: when he wants something, he gets stubborn and does everything he can to get his way.

“Ex-wife, then.”

Leonard shakes his head. He didn’t need to get into this, not right now. The whole reason why he left Georgia was because of Joycelyn—California was literally the farthest he could go to get away from her. (And he _wasn’t_ running, no matter what her mother said.)

“Not in a million years,” Leonard mutters, turning back to his book to end the conversation.

They slip back into silence and Leonard’s brain starts to turn over the different societies and their effects on capitalism when Jim suddenly asks, “Was she pregnant?”

“Not at first,” Leonard responds, then realizes what he said. His head snaps up and he glares at Jim, who is grinning like an idiot. “God _damn_ it, Jim!”

“You have a kid?” Jim asks eagerly, ignoring Leonard’s obvious anger. “Boy or girl?”

“ _Not talking about this_ ,” Leonard hisses, and Jim thankfully drops the topic. He pouts but opens his laptop again and actually starts working. Leonard feels relief wash over him, turning back to his own work.

~*~

Jim’s not stupid.

He knows something is going on with Spock, but every time he tries to bring it up, Spock assures him he’s fine. It’s like Spock didn’t want to admit there was something wrong. Or, maybe he doesn’t think there is anything wrong.

When Jim wakes up in the morning, Spock is meditating. When he drags himself to bed at night, Spock is meditating. He’s not sure if the meditation is helping whatever’s going on, but Jim is starting to get worried. It’s distracting him in class—so much so that one day in class Chekov leans over and tells Jim in a thick accent “it vill be o-kaey.”

Jim needs to figure out a way to either address this with Spock or knock him out and smuggle him into a doctor’s office.

In a way to alleviate the passive-aggressive tension, Jim suggests they take an excursion to the Golden Gate Bridge. Neither of them have technically have had time to do anything there, with Jim being busy with classes and Spock busy with being an alien. So in the evening, they take a taxi out to the bridge. Jim hopes the fresh air will help relieve the awkwardness.

Bones comes too. So maybe the tension won’t get _that_ relieved, but Jim feels like he needs some backup for this.

“This is what makes San Francisco famous,” Jim tells Spock excitedly once they get on the walkway. “It was built way back in the early 21st century but still is held in its original structure.”

“Impressive progress for the time,” Spock notes, taking in the structure with an expression of obvious curiosity Jim loves to see on his face. “The structure is both aesthetically pleasing and practical.”

Bones snorts, “What, you guys don’t have bridges on your planet?”

“Vulcan is primarily a desert atmosphere,” Spock informs him, standing straighter like he always does whenever Bones picks on him. “There are not large bodies of water on the surface like there are on Earth, thus a structure such as this when not attached to a cliff would be unused and illogical to build.”

“Bet you don’t have fog, either,” Bones teases.

Spock almost unconsciously tugs at the sweater he is wearing. It’s one of Jim’s—the bulky gray one that used to be Sam’s their grandma knit for him a few Christmasses ago. Spock complained about the texture of his robes, saying the rough fabric was irritating his skin and _that_ must be why his body temperature had been fluctuating so much. Spock had been sneaking some of Jim’s clothes for a few days now, apparently the pacified by the softer Earth fabric. It doesn’t really make sense to Jim, but hey, if his hot alien boyfriend wants to wear his clothes, by no means is Jim going to stop him.

It also hasn’t escaped Jim’s attention it’s always sweaters or thicker layers Spock wears despite the heat. Even now as the fog rolls in for the evening, the air is still hot from the day. Jim can feel himself sweating just looking at how bundled Spock is.

“It is a fascinating concept of weather,” Spock responds, sounding a bit strained. Jim doesn’t have to be an expert in Spock-inese to know he doesn’t like it.

“C’mon,” Jim says, wrapping his fingers gently around Spock’s. “We can watch the sunset from up here.” Spock glances down at their hands, then locks eyes with Jim’s. He feels a warmth spread through his chest as Spock slides their fingers together in a Vulcan kiss.

“How romantic,” Bones mutters, stepping ahead of them. Jim sticks out his tongue, making the tips of Spock’s lips quirk up.

They walk in silence for a while, taking in the sight of the lights of the city blinking on for the evening through the fog. Jim’s hand never leaves Spock’s. They walk so close together their shoulders always brush. Jim doesn’t mind it—in fact he really enjoys it—but it’s completely out of character for Spock, who always prefers keeping to himself when in public.

“You know I love you, right?” Jim says softly, slowing his pace to hang back farther.

“As I love you, _ashayam_ ,” Spock replies. The sound of the pet name sends Jim’s heart fluttering helplessly. But no, they _need_ to talk about this.

“And you know you can tell me anything.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow, his head tilting slightly. “Yes, but to what are you referring? Is it correlated to why you feel so conflicted?”

Jim nearly winces, remembering they were still holding hands. He shouldn’t be surprised—the touch telepath thing made it super easy for Spock to get in his head, even involuntarily.

“I just don’t think you’re…” Jim flounders for a second before he finally says, “yourself.”

“Who else would I be if I am not myself?” Spock questions, sounding both a little amused and exasperated. “Do humans have a different conception of self that involve multiple personalities?”

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Jim says, shaking his head. But before he can press further, Bones saunters back over to them.

“You can see the trollies from over here,” he says lightly. “Bet they don’t have those on your planet, either.”

Spock stops walking, his shoulders going oddly still. His eyes are glazed over, his hand slipping away from Jim’s and clenching at his side.

“Hey,” Jim says, frowning. “Are you okay? You look—” he pauses, then chuckles once. “Well, you look a little green.”

Spock’s eyebrows pull together. “I am…fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth. Jim is about to ask if he wants to go home, but the words catch in his throat when Spock suddenly crumples to the ground.

Jim moves to catch him, but Bones moves faster, his hands shooting out and grabbing Spock by the arm and the back of his neck. He doesn’t stop Spock’s decent but helps in gently laying him down on the sidewalk, resting Spock’s head in his lap.

“Spock!” Jim cries, dropping down next to him. “Is he okay?”

Bones has a look of concentration on his face Jim has never seen before. He doesn’t answer at first, pressing his fingers under Spock’s chin to find a pulse.

“His heart rate is really fast,” Bones says warily.

“That’s normal,” Jim replies, glancing between them nervously.

“Could this be a reaction to something?” Bones asks, his eyes scanning over the Vulcan. “Is he allergic to anything?”

Jim shakes his head dumbly, hot fear striking through him. “I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t _know_?” Bones repeats, looking up at him with alarm. “Jim, he’s from another planet. He could have touched something that could kill him and we wouldn’t know until he’s already dead!”

Jim feels like he got punched in the gut. His panic rises into a crescendo, crashing over him as he glances down at Spock’s unconscious face. Spock would have told him if he was allergic to something or if he was seriously hurt, right? This wasn’t Jim’s fault. It _couldn’t_ be his fault.

Could it?

As if appearing out of the woodworks, two black vans suddenly pull up on the side of the walkway next to them. Three men in suits jump out and hurry over to them. Jim nearly groans, immediately recognizing them as the CIA agents who stake out Jim’s apartment building on a regular basis.

“What the hell?” Bones says, glancing around the bridge in surprise. “Did they follow us?”

“What’s going on?” one of the agents demands. Another one speaks into a walkie-talkie, and the third crouches down next to Spock.

“He fainted,” Bones explains, still in doctor-mode. “I think his heart rate is normal but I can’t tell. I can’t do a diagnostic on an alien.”

Agent Three grabs roughly at Spock’s chin, turning his head to the side. Jim can hear Spock make a tiny noise and he is dimly reminded of the last time he saw Spock pass out like this—in the bathtub in his farmhouse in Iowa, immediately after crash-landing on Earth.

“We’re taking him,” Agent Two says firmly. “You need to back away, now.”

There’s a beat of silence, then both Jim and Bones start protesting at the same time.

“Take him where?” Jim demands, his voice bordering on hysterical.

“Like hell you are,” Bones snaps, curling slightly around Spock’s shoulders as if to protect him. “You can’t just carry him off to some warehouse and start experimenting on him.”

Agent Two scowls at Bones, and Agent One steps over. “He needs medical professionals,” he says. “We’re taking him to the hospital.”

Jim stands. “I’m going with you.”

“Me too,” Bones adds immediately. “He’s not leaving Spock, and I’m not leaving him.”

The agents glance back and forth at each other before settling on an agreement.

“Fine,” Agent One says. Jim releases a breath, temporarily relieved. Agent Two and Three lift Spock up by the arms and legs and load him into one of the vans while Agent One ushers them into the other.

The whole ride over, Jim’s legs bounce as he mentally runs over everything he and Spock did during the day, wondering what could have triggered this. It looked like Spock abruptly went into a healing trance—but how long was he going to be unconscious? Jim thinks back to the time when he first rescued Spock out of the burning space craft; he was out for nearly twenty-four hours.

But Spock had been severely bleeding when that happened. He isn't hurt now, at least as far as Jim knew. 

“Hey,” Bones says softly, knocking their knees together. “It’s gonna be alright. That pointy eared bastard is just as stubborn as you. He’s not gonna let whatever this is bring him down.”

Jim swallows thickly and offers Bones a weak smile. If only he could agree.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone else watch the trailer for Discovery and absolutely lose their shit at Sarek's lines? No one? Just me? (Okay, I'll go fangirl in a corner then.)

When Spock wakes, he is surprised to find himself lying on a bed in a white room he has never seen before, filled with lights entirely too bright. The walls are covered in what appear to be medical charts, and in the corners of the room there are various beeping machines. Blinking against the harsh light, Spock’s ears perk up as he hears the continuation of a conversation happening just outside the door.

“Let me in!” Jim is protesting, his voice frustrated and holding tones of barely concealed panic. “Don’t you know who I am?”

“I don’t _care_ who you are,” a female voice snaps back. “You aren’t allowed anywhere without my permission! I’m head nurse and this is _my_ ward.”

“Yeah?” Jim sneers, “Well that’s _my_ alien! I shouldn’t need any kind of permission to see if he’s alive!”

There is a beat of silence, then the voice of Agent Hendorff sighs, “Just let him do what he wants. It’ll save us all a headache.”

Spock hears the female huff. “CIA restrictions, my ass.”

“Thanks, Cupcake,” Jim says, still sounding a bit ragged.

The door to the room opens and his _t’hy’la_ bursts through like a whirlwind. Agent Hendorff follows Jim in, closing the door and hovering by the frame as if acting as a guard. Jim doesn’t seem to notice; he only has eyes for Spock.

“Spock, oh my God,” Jim gushes, rushing over to the bed. His distress is displayed clearly on his face and in the jerkiness of his body language. “You fainted and then those goons took you away and they tried to keep me from getting in the hospital but Bones knows some of the nurses here and then I almost had to punch one of those assholes—”

From behind him, Agent Hendorff clears his throat. Jim whips his head around, noticing for the first time he’s still in the room.

“Sorry,” Jim says, not sounding sincere. He turns back to Spock, crouching low next to the bed. “Did you get hurt? Is that why you were in a trance?”

Spock frowns, sitting up slightly. “I was not in a healing trance.” Had he gone into one, it would have been voluntary and only if his body and mind were under great strain. It would have been impossible for a trance to occur without consent, and his mind did not feel rested. If anything, Spock feels more strained than he has in days.

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “You just passed out?” he asks, dumbfounded. “Is that normal?”

“I have never experienced it,” Spock admits. “I am unsure of why I lost consciousness at all.”

Jim bites his lip. “Did something trigger it?” His face has same conflicted look it held on the bridge. But instead of dwelling on it, Spock thinks back to the moments before he lost consciousness. He and Jim were talking, Spock revealing in the affection his _t’hy’la_ provided for him. He recalls no physical stimuli that would have affected him in such a way—except for when Leonard stepped over.

But suddenly, Spock remembers a flame rush across his skin, something deep within him wanting to leap forward and attack Leonard for daring to move so close to Jim. But Spock _couldn’t_ attack Leonard, Leonard is his friend _but it didn’t matter_ because it was _Jim_ and Jim is _his_ and would belong to no other, but he had to control it, force it down but it _burned_ , _kal’i’fee_ —

The pain in his head roars back to life, and Spock takes a measured breath. “I do not know,” he says eventually, lifting his eyes to meet Jim’s concerned ones.

“Either way,” Agent Hendorff cuts in, pushing off the door to step closer, “we called the ambassadors and informed them as soon as you went down. Luckily, they were still in the area, so Sarek should be here soon.”

Spock nods, grateful to bring this up with someone of his own culture. “Thank you.”

Jim is undeterred, still ignoring Agent Hendorff. “You’re sick, aren’t you.”

Spock lets out a small breath, trying not to let his aggravation show. Jim has been pestering him about this subject for some time now. “I do not believe I am ill—”

“Bullshit!” Jim snaps. “Spock, you’re _not_ fine! You literally fainted in front of me. Something is wrong and we both know it, so quit acting like it’s nothing!”

“Jim,” Spock goes to say, but the human gives him a look and he alters what he was going to say. “I…have been experiencing headaches and a significant lapse in my ability to concentrate.”

“I knew it,” Jim exclaims, throwing up his hands in the air. “I _knew_ it! God, Spock, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not believe it to be relevant,” he admits. Jim looks more frustrated and hurt than ever before, causing his heart to thump uncomfortably at his side. Spock hurries on, “Jim, _I_ do not know what is wrong. I did not wish to worry you if it was not serious.”

“ _Worry_ me?” Jim cries, his eyes glossy and red around the edges. “Jesus Christ, Spock, you don’t think I’m worried now? Someone needs to explain human bedside manner to you.”

Spock tilts his head, but before he can speak Agent Hendorff gets a message on his communication device. The scratchy sound of the radio grates on his ears and adds more pressure to his temples. He fights back a cringe and clenches his jaw, an action which does not go unnoticed by Jim.

“Wrap it up, kid,” Agent Hendorff tells Jim. “The Vulcans just got here.”

Jim stands up straight and crosses his arms stubbornly. “Whatever they have to say, I can hear it, too.”

“Uh-uh,” Agent Hendorff says, shaking his head. “They requested privacy, and I’m not having bad blood between us and the aliens just because two lovebirds can’t stand to be separated for five minutes.”

Jim’s ears turn pink and he looks like he wants to protest further, but Spock leans forward and takes Jim’s arm, just above his elbow. The raw emotion Jim is feeling— _fearpainanxietyconfusionlovelovelove_ —rushes through Spock at the contact, relieving the pain in his head so quickly he gasps in surprise. Jim turns back to him, his eyes wide. Spock wonders briefly if he felt the same kind of mental shift he did.

“I will not be far from you, _ashayam_ ,” Spock tells him gently. “ _Taluhk nash-veh k’dular._ ”

Jim’s lips form a weary smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I love you, too. I’ll wait outside.”

Spock offers him a soft smile in return, and then Jim is reluctantly ushered out of the room by Agent Hendorff. Spock is alone for a few moments; the soft beeping of the human’s machines seem louder now that he is alone, the pressure returning in his head.

But it didn’t compare to his sudden anxiousness of being away from Jim. It was a thrill of pure terror, very much like he felt when he was forced to leave Jim to return to Vulcan so long ago. The feeling is so intense, it causes his hands to tremble. Spock is about to call for Jim to come back when his father and Sybok enter the room, the door latching softly behind them.

“Spock,” Sarek says, “you are unwell.” It is spoken like a statement rather than a question.

“I am unsure,” Spock replies, pushing down his anxiety and sitting up straighter. For a moment, the room spins as his center of gravity shifts from the movement.  

“You lost consciousness,” Sybok points out. “You are hardly in full health.”

Sarek steps to the side of the bed, bending to press his fingers against Spock’s temple. He does not ask permission, but Spock tilts his head in submission anyway. Though it was consensual, the meld…hurts. It feels as though a Klingon _bat’leth_ is spearing through his skull. Spock lets out a hiss before he can contain it, his instincts screaming at him to rip away from his father’s touch. Familial connection normally brings peace rather than discomfort, none the less agony.

And for some reason, Spock can’t stop thinking about how different Sarek’s mind feels compared to Jim’s.

His father pulls away, and Spock jerks back, feeling as though he has been physically and mentally exerted to his limits. Sarek fixes him with a curious expression.

“You are experiencing the preliminary effects of Pon Farr,” Sarek says simply.

“ _What?_ ” both Spock and Sybok say in unison.

“Impossible,” Sybok refutes immediately. “Spock is too young, he cannot biologically express that.”

Spock resists the sudden urge to preform a human eye roll. Even after spending an extensive period separated from each other, Sybok maintained the ability to irk him. “I am _not_ a child,” Spock snaps bitterly. “I passed the point of sexual maturity one quarter year ago.”

“Yes, but your Time should not happen so suddenly,” his brother shoots back. “It should take days or even weeks to form.”

Spock opens his mouth, then closes it. He thinks of his headaches, his irritability, his rashness—all rising and falling sporadically since he returned from his most recent diplomatic trip. It _had_ taken days. Spock just had not recognized it.

Sybok continues, “Father, there is no logic in this. There must be some other explanation to the symptoms.”

Sarek purses his lips in consideration. “Have you experienced difficulty meditating?” Spock nods. “Have your mental shields unexpectedly broken down at certain points in the day?” Spock nods again. Sarek looks at a loss. “Unlikely as it is, he is technically of age. I see no other explanation.”

Sarek turns to Sybok. “Retrieve Suval and return to the ship,” he instructs. “An elder will have more insight on this.”

“But Spock is not bonded to a Vulcan,” Sybok protests, still fighting, because he always must fight about _something_. “How would Suval—”

“ _Sybok_.”

Sarek’s voice is sharp and absolute. Sybok’s eyes narrow but he obeys, whipping open the door and trudging out of the room. The gush of air from the hall makes Spock shiver despite the layers of Jim’s clothing. This planet is so _cold_.

“This is…most unusual,” Sarek tells him once they are alone. “I was not expecting you to experience your Time for at least another year. Was there an event that transpired which led to this?”

Spock tries to think, but all he can bring to mind is his annoyance about being kept from Jim in this stuffy room. He shakes his head. The crawling feeling under his skin returns, his flesh breaking out into goosebumps.

Suval steps through the door before Spock can form an answer. “My Lord?” he questions, glancing between Sarek and Spock.

As Sarek explains the situation, Spock closes his eyes and leans back on the bed. He is tired of listening to this, of being in this place; he just wants to be back in the apartment with Jim, pressing every possible inch of their skin together and wrap around his _t’hy’la_ mentally and physically.

Just thinking of Jim lessens the pounding in his head. Jim, who expresses light through his entire being, who loves Spock more than anything and is achingly beautiful—

Spock’s eyes snap open with a realization. Pon Farr was…violent. He has already experienced part of it, remembering how easily he crushed the drinking glass in his grip. He could do the same with one of Jim’s bones if he lost his control.

“Jim is human,” Spock says uneasily, interrupting whatever Suval had been saying. Both elders turn to face him.

“That is perhaps another cause of this,” Suval notes. “Humans are psy-null, and your mind may have felt cut off from your bondmate’s because he cannot share in the same telepathic waves.”

“He will not survive the mating process,” Spock says hollowly. “I will kill him.” Just saying the words makes his body go cold.

“But you will experience the _plak-tow_ ,” Sarek tells him. “It is likely your blood is already burning for him.”

Spock shakes his head. “I refuse to be near him if I will cause him harm.” Just the thought of Jim in pain makes him feel nauseous. He cannot begin to fathom the sickness he would feel if he was the cause it.

“Spock, you must mate with whom you have bonded,” Suval says, frowning. “This is an ancient practice that goes deep within the blood of our species. You cannot fight this. If you try, you will die.”

“I prefer death than inflicting harm on my _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock answers stubbornly.

Sarek purses his lips again and turns to Suval. “Could a healer suppress this? If his bond is only half formed as you say, perhaps something could be done.”

But Suval shakes his head. “My Lord, this situation is most unusual and of high importance. On the off chance our efforts fail, your son will die.”

Spock is struck with another thought.

“Could they reestablish a temporary bond instead?” he asks. When his father raises a questioning eyebrow, Spock hurriedly continues. “I was bonded to T’Pring for the majority of my life. Could that bond be reformed only during the mating process?”

“That is…” Suval begins, then hesitates. “I am unsure if that is the logical route. Attempting to break a _t’hy’la_ bond during Pon Farr would be excruciatingly painful, if possible. It could cause severe mental and telepathic damage.”

“But is there a probability it could be executed successfully?” Spock asks desperately. Everything in him recoils, not wanting to even think of touching or be touched by anyone but Jim, but if Jim were to die because of this, because of _him_ —

Suval looks uncertain, glancing at Sarek warily as he nods. “There is a minimal chance, yes.”

Spock pushes down the anxiety of the thought of leaving his mate and nods. “Then return me to Vulcan.”

“Spock,” Sarek says carefully, “are you certain this is what you want?” There is a concern to Sarek’s voice that is misplaced, as Spock has already made up his mind.

Jim did not deserve to be put through this. Spock has no right to ask this of him, no right to put him in such a violent and life threatening situation because of his biological needs. And if keeping Jim safe meant Spock suffering, then so it would be.

“Yes.”

~*~

After he gets kicked out of Spock’s room, Cupcake keeps a careful eye on him as if to make sure he doesn’t harass the nurses again, but Jim isn’t stupid enough to do that. Instead, he slides down the wall and sits on the floor, watching as two Vulcans enter the room—one of them Jim recognizes as Spock’s father. Bones moves over and sits next to him.

“Did he say anything?” he asks. Jim shrugs.

“Not really,” he answers. “I didn’t get a lot of time with him. But he said he didn’t go into a trance, which was kind of weird.”

“Trance?” Bones repeats, frowning.

“It’s a thing they do when they get hurt,” Jim explains, eyeing the door. “It helps their minds repair their bodies, or something like that. But if Spock didn’t go into one, then it means he…wasn’t hurt, and he said he’s been getting a lot of headaches…”

Bones looks just as clueless as Jim feels. “Hell if I know.” He shifts against the wall, slouching lower and muttering, “ _Aliens_.”

It’s a while before either of the Vulcans come out of Spock’s room. Jim starts counting the checkered tiles on the floor, trying to distract himself from his burning anxiety. Bones eyes the other Vulcans in the hall—an elderly one and one who looks suspiciously like the one who shoved the gun in Jim’s face when Sarek came to retrieve Spock in Iowa. He’s usually around wherever Sarek goes—Jim’s starting to think he must be a body guard.

“Don’t stare,” Jim murmurs out of the corner of his mouth, not looking up. “It’s rude.”

Bones shifts again, straightening against the wall. “Forgot,” he mutters back. “It’s just, I’ve never seen so many in real life. They’re—”

“Aliens, I know,” Jim says. “But we probably look funny to them, too.”

Bones shoots him a smile. “You’re startin’ to sound like an ambassador yourself,” he teases. Jim opens his mouth to respond but the door to Spock’s room opens and the Vulcan that isn’t Sarek steps out. To the untrained eye he looks emotionless, but Jim has been around Spock long enough to recognize barely concealed agitation when he sees it.

Jim sits up, wondering if he’s allowed to go in now, but the Vulcan doesn’t even look at him, striding past them and speaks to the elderly Vulcan. The older one nods and soon slips into the room, leaving Jim with more questions. He leans back on the wall, but feels his skin prickle and glances up to see that same Vulcan staring at him.

And it’s different, somehow—like this one is actually looking _at_ him rather than _through_ him. Something about the intensity of his gaze seems familiar, but before Jim can place it the Vulcan turns away and heavily steps down the hall.

Jim looks at Bones, who shrugs. Jim lets out a breath and slumps down again.

What could they be doing in there? Was there some kind of other healing ritual to diagnose what was wrong? It sounds a little silly, but for all Jim knows it could be happening.

The more he thinks about it, the more Jim realizes just how little he knows about Vulcan culture. The only times he has really learned things is when he has asked Spock direct questions, or when Spock brings small details up in conversation. But it’s always bits and pieces of information and never a huge explanation like Jim always tries to give Spock about Earth culture. But that’s different, because it isn’t like Spock can show Jim things about Vulcan like Jim can show him on Earth. That’s essentially part of it, right?

Or is Jim just a really shitty intergalactic boyfriend?

“Hey,” Bones says, holding his phone away from his ear. Jim didn’t even notice it ring or him answer. “I have to go to the hospital.”

Still caught up in his thoughts, Jim frowns and says dumbly, “You are in a hospital.”

“No,” Bones rolls his eyes, “not _this_ hospital. The one I work at. Christine is short staffed and she wants me to come in.”

“Yeah, of course,” Jim says automatically, clapping his hand on Bones’ shoulder. “You go, I’ll stick around for a while.”

Bones looks at him for a moment, as if gauging if Jim’s stable enough for him to leave. “I’m fine,” Jim tells him firmly, hoping he looked as much.

“Okay, okay,” Bones holds up his hands in defense. “I’m going.” He stands and steals another glance toward the closed door to Spock’s room. “You’ll call me if anything happens?”

“You know I’d never keep gossip from you, Bonsies,” Jim teases, and Bones flips him off as he leaves. “You’re the light of my life!” Jim calls obnoxiously down the hall. He chuckles at his own joke, but quickly quiets when there’s no one else around to get his humor.

A CIA agent and Cupcake stand on one side of the hall, the one remaining Vulcan stationed on the other. Jim is in the middle, trying to look anywhere but the intimidating door which seems to loom higher and higher with every passing second.

What if Spock caught a disease from Finland, or any of the other countries he visited? What if he was seriously sick? What if he had to shed his skin like a lizard and can only do it in a certain climate?

No, Vulcans weren’t lizard people. If anything, they were like felines, compared to the little Jim has gathered from Spock’s shreds of details of his heritage. But Spock didn’t like to talk about his childhood, and Jim never pushed him when he got uncomfortable. He wonders now if that was a mistake.

One of the hospital interns takes mercy on him and gives him one of their chairs from the nurses’ station. Time seems to drag by, leaving plenty of moments for Jim’s overactive brain to go into overdrive about what could be wrong with his boyfriend.

He eventually worries himself into a stupor; Jim didn’t even realize he fell asleep until he suddenly wakes up in an empty hall. He sits up from where he’s slouched over the nurses’ desk, rubbing at his eyes and wincing at the crick in his neck. He glances up and down the ward—it’s practically deserted and the lights are dimmed. It must be far later in the night.

Jim gets up and moves to Spock’s room, only to find it dark and empty.

Well. Not entirely empty.

That Vulcan guard steps out of the room, speaking in his own language into something which looks vaguely like a 21st century flip phone. When he notices Jim, he immediately stops talking and snaps the thing shut.

“Hey,” Jim says, “Where’s Spock? Did he leave? Did they move him to a different ward?”

The Vulcan doesn’t answer him, and Jim wonders for a second if he can understand what he’s saying. But if he’s on Earth he should have a translator. All the ambassadors had them—Spock learned English well enough he didn’t need a translator anymore, but Jim has no idea where the other aliens are on levels of understanding.

“Is he still with his dad?” Jim tries again, and for some reason _that_ strikes a nerve with the Vulcan because he stands impossibly straighter and sets his jaw.

“Lord Sarek is currently acting as his son’s escort,” he says, his expression flat but his voice biting.

“O-o _ka_ y,” Jim says, not completely satisfied. At least he knows the Vulcan can understand him. “Where are they going? Did they move to another hospital?”

“Your infirmaries are impractical and your methods inefficient for our species,” he answers bluntly. “The _pi’sa-fu_ is being escorted back to Vulcan.”

It takes a moment for the words to sink in. “Spock’s leaving Earth?” Jim asks in disbelief.

“Left,” the Vulcan corrects haughtily. “They are currently in transit.”

“He left and he didn’t even tell me?” Jim asks, hot panic spreading across his skin. “Is he okay? Is he really that sick?”

The Vulcan’s eyes sweep up and down Jim once, not attempting to hide his distaste. “It is no longer necessary for you to be involved in this process,” he says coolly, then steps around him into the hall.

Jim’s eyes go wide and he darts forward, grabbing the Vulcan’s arm to pull him back. The alien reacts almost violently, like the first time Jim touched Spock without warning. He yanks his arm away and stares at Jim with repulsion.

“Like hell I’m _unnecessary_ ,” Jim snaps. “Aren’t I like Vulcan-married to Spock or something? I’m his—his _t’hy’la_.” It takes him a second to remember the right word, and at the sound of it the Vulcan’s face goes hard. “I deserve to know what’s going on.”

But instead of giving him a direct answer, the Vulcan’s eyes narrow. “Do you know what this planet is like to a Vulcan?”

His question throws Jim for a loop. “Er—no? What does that have to do with—”

“This planet’s environment is habitual, but not comfortable,” the Vulcan cuts him off, his voice holding more and more tones of arrogance. “It is cold and wet, filled with a variety of other discomforts. Would you expect any Vulcan to remain here for an extended period, especially when ailing?”

Jim’s heart skips a beat uncomfortably. “Spock would stay,” Jim protests valiantly, feeling confident in his answer.

The Vulcan looks impossibly smug. “And yet he is not here.”

Jim opens his mouth but falters as his arguments escape him. Because the Vulcan was right, and they both knew it. Spock _left_ —Spock left Earth and didn’t even tell Jim he was leaving or why. Didn’t even say goodbye.

 _Again_.

The Vulcan smirks at Jim’s loss of words. “It would be wise to reevaluate your _bond_ before presuming your significance.” Then, he turns and steps down the hall, disappearing from sight.

Jim makes no move to go after him, his throat unexpectedly tight. He suddenly feels very, very small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Sorry-not-sorry for the angst :P )


	4. Chapter 4

The ride back to Vulcan is unbearable. When Spock’s body catches on that he made a conscious decision of leaving his mate, every nerve lights on fire in protest. Spock grits his teeth and attempts to hold control over the pain, but he eventually turns to his father and requests to be put out of consciousness. Sarek gives him the same kind concerned look he gave earlier, but obliges.

Spock wakes up screaming.

His mind is in chaos, being torn apart at the seams. He longs to be with Jim, craves it, burning deep within his body and soul, but there is another presence inside his mind, foreign and wrong. The presence pushes deeper, cutting like a hot blade through his thoughts, reaching further and further to touch the delicate strands of his bond with Jim.

Spock feels his body convulse violently and the presence gets thrown away. Gasping for breath, Spock opens his eyes. He is lying on a stone slab in a room with high windows—a healer’s chamber. A healer who he just knocked to the ground.

“His mind is not willing,” the healer tells someone on the other side of Spock. He stands and approaches, raising his hand and hovering just over the psy-points. “Hold him down.”

Firm hands press on his shoulders just as the healer’s fingers touch his face again. The spots where their skin connect sizzles, as if being set on fire, and Spock arches to get away from the touch. But now he’s being held down, trapped and forced to endure the turmoil. The healer’s presence draws closer to his bond and Spock instinctually fights it, biting and clawing and attacking back with his mind.

The healer gets thrown down again.

And again.

And again.

Spock does not know how long they are there or how many times they repeat the process. Every attempt leaves Spock feeling more and more exhausted, his body aching and his brain boiling inside his skull. He drifts in and out of consciousness, waking once with the healer and Sarek standing over him.

“…too strong,” the healer’s voice drifts into Spock’s ears. “I have not seen a bond of this caliber before. Not between two Vulcans. This is…abnormal.”

“What can be done?” Sarek asks softly.

“I do not know,” the healer admits. “The girl can be brought in to attempt to sate the hunger of the flesh, but she has the right to refuse as there is no bond.”

Spock’s skin sets ablaze at the mention of _the girl_. Because _the girl_ isn’t Jim, but Jim isn’t here—he _needs_ Jim, loves Jim, would kill for Jim—would _kill_ Jim, can’t be near Jim, can’t give up control, _can’t must has to fight it_ —

His eyes roll back in his head and he slips into unconsciousness again.

When Spock wakes up next, he is in his room. His body is trembling and his head is searing. Though he can feel the madness closing in, ending the opportunity for any relief other than death, he finds slight comfort in the thought of Jim being safe.

Safe and very, very far away.

~*~

It’s déjà vu. Spock is gone and Jim is left alone with no trace of him and no way to ask if he’s okay. The worry is twisting like a knife in his stomach, making it impossible for him to sleep or eat. Only this time, he’s not stuck in a farmhouse in Iowa; he’s smack dab in the middle of the bustling city of San Francisco, and he has actual real adult responsibilities like classes and friends.

In the morning, Jim calls Hendorff, thinking maybe the Vulcans might have told the CIA agents something more about what’s going on. The phone number is only to be used for emergencies, but Jim thinks having his alien boyfriend going AWOL is as big as any crisis is going to get.

“Sorry kid,” Cupcake says gruffly. “I know about as much as you. They got super tightlipped about everything and haven’t talk to us much since.”

“Oh,” Jim says, trying not to sound dejected but failing miserably.

“I’m sure they know what they’re doing,” Cupcake goes on, not unkindly. “Their healers will know how to fix whatever’s going on with Spock.”

Jim nods, but then remembers Cupcake can’t see him so he says, “Right. Thanks.” He swallows thickly and hangs up.

Cupcake is right; the Vulcans are smart. They’re logical. Spock would be fine. He’d be back on Earth in no time. There’s no reason for Jim to worry.

But he skips his classes, and only feels a little better.

Jim spends the day restlessly moving around the apartment, not able to sit in one place for too long. If he did, his thoughts would catch up to him. He tries to remember everything he and Spock had done, tries to think of an explanation for Spock’s headaches and irritability—some logical reason for why he had to be taken away—but comes up blank every time. He exhausts himself and collapses on the couch, only to wake up some time later in the night and moves to the bed. He buries his face in Spock’s pillow, breathing in the scent so unearthly yet achingly familiar while blearily pretending Spock is right next to him.

The next morning, he still hasn’t heard anything and forces himself to go to class. He doesn’t retain a single fact and can’t bring himself to return anyone’s smiles. He’s so preoccupied he almost rams into Pike in the hallway.

Pike must have been able to tell something was wrong, because he invites Jim into his office to talk. Jim hurriedly declines and all but runs to the next building. He doesn’t need his favorite professor to think he’s some pathetic lovebird who can’t think straight when something is wrong with his boyfriend.

(Jim is very much a pathetic lovebird.)

After class, he walks back to his apartment alone and starts researching one of his physics papers when he hears a knock on his door. Jim’s heart jumps and he leaps from the couch, but when he opens the door, the wrong pair of brown eyes is staring at him.

“Where the hell have you been?” Bones grumbles, pushing past him into the apartment. “You never called me, and I didn’t see you at all yesterday.” 

Jim sighs and closes the door, having completely forgot about his promise to call Bones after he left the hospital. “I’ve been here,” he answers lamely.

“What about Spock?” Bones asks, dropping his backpack and sitting on the couch. A pang strikes through Jim’s chest.

“He’s…He went home.”

“Whatd’you mean, he went home?” Bones repeats, frowning. “He lives with you, doesn’t he?”

“He went back to his planet,” Jim explains, shuffling to sit next to him. “He needs the healers from his own culture instead of our doctors.”

Bones purses his lips and asks carefully, “When is he coming back?”

Jim looks down at his lap. “I don’t know.”

But instead of pitying him, Bones slaps a hand on his knee and says, “I still owe you food, don’t I?”

“Bones—”

But he is already pulling out his phone and ordering a pizza before Jim can stop him. Jim smiles weakly, already feeling slightly better about the whole situation. They fall into an easy rhythm, trying to do homework but mostly just talking. Jim is in the middle of telling him how a Vulcan basically told him to fuck himself when another knock sounds at the door.

“Pizza,” Jim says, then immediately presses his finger over his nose. Bones rolls his eyes.

“Nose goes? Are you an infant?”

Jim shrugs, not removing his finger. “The rules are sacred, Bones. Besides, you’re buying.”

Bones heaves a sigh and grumbles under his breath, but stands and moves to the door. Jim knows it’s all for show, but he still feels quite self-satisfied and relaxes back into the couch.

“Uh, Jim?” Bones calls a second later, sounding unsure. “I think this one is for you.”

Frowning, Jim gets up off the couch and heads over, surprised to find a Vulcan with a goatee at the door. He recognizes this one from the hospital—the one that went into Spock’s room with Sarek.

“Oh, hey,” Jim says, automatically raising the _ta’al_.

The Vulcan doesn’t seem impressed, not offering it back. Instead, he peers past Jim into the apartment, his thick pointed eyebrows pulling together.

“Where is Spock?” he asks, speaking in perfect, unaccented English. It doesn’t even sound like he has a translator on.

The question surprises Jim. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

The Vulcan barges past Jim into the apartment, sweeping him aside easily as if he were a leaf in the wind. He searches the room as if making sure Jim wasn’t lying. Bones steps out of the way, backing up against the wall and staring at the Vulcan in bewilderment.

“He is not here,” the Vulcan concludes, the phrase sounding like a question.

“Yeah,” Jim confirms, a bit annoyed now that this is the second time an alien has made assumptions about their relationship. At least Spock was polite. “They took him a day ago. That guard said he had to go back to the healers on your planet.”

The Vulcan turns to Jim, still frowning. “Who took him?”

Jim shakes his head, starting to feel a flustered under his intense gaze. “I-I don’t know, one of the ambassadors? You guys all kinda look alike.”

“The same can be said for your species,” the Vulcan retorts, shooting a pointed look between him and Bones. “When are you departing?”

Jim blinks. “Departing?”

The Vulcan nods once. “Yes.”

“To…where exactly?”

The Vulcan’s posture, which was previously almost relaxed, goes cautiously still. “To be with Spock.”

“They never said anything about me going with him,” Jim replies, cringing at the memory. “One of them told me I didn’t even have a real bond with Spock.”

The Vulcan looks alarmed. “They took Spock with no intention of keeping you together?”

Jim feels like he’s under scrutiny again and he answers hesitantly. “ _Yes-s?_ No one would tell me what was wrong with him, I don’t think they wanted me in the same area—”

The Vulcan spits something out in his own language, suddenly looking thunderous. Jim feels hot anxiety prickle at his skin.

“What is it?” he asks quickly. “What’s wrong with Spock?”

But instead of answering, the Vulcan shakes his head. “We must leave at once.”

“To go where?” Jim asks, frustrated he still isn’t getting a straight answer.

“Vulcan,” the alien answers as if it’s obvious.

“ _Vulcan?_ ” Jim and Bones cry at the same time.

“Are you outta your mind?” Bones snaps, finally moving away from the wall. “Jim can’t just _leave_ Earth. He’s human.”

“He must,” the Vulcan replies seriously. “If he does not, Spock will die.”

“Spock’s _dying?_ ” Jim squawks, his stomach dropping through the floor. “He was okay a week ago!”

“It is a sickness that effects members of our species at certain points of their life,” he explains exasperatedly. “It is not deadly unless a Vulcan is separated from their mate.”

“If they knew that, why would they take Spock away from me?” Jim asks, his voice raising a few octaves as panic starts to take over.

“You are an off-worlder,” the Vulcan says simply. “Our race does not disclose medical secrets unless in dire instances such as this.”

Jim feels lightheaded. Spock was dying and the Vulcans knew it, but they took him away anyway. It doesn’t make any sense.

“Why should we trust you?” Bones asks, his voice sharp but his movements gentle as he steps to Jim’s side and steadies him. “How do you know what’s wrong with Spock?”

The Vulcan looks annoyed again, the emotion written plainly on his face. He’s the most expressive Vulcan Jim has ever seen. “Because I am his brother.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “ _You’re_ Sybok?” He looks nothing like Spock—he’s several inches taller and way buffer. Even his hair is different; it’s longer and curls around his pointed ears and the high collar of his robe.

“You are as wise as an infant can walk,” Sybok deadpans.

“Was that a joke?” Bones says in disbelief.

Jim shakes his head. “Can we get back to Spock dying? Can’t your healers do anything? I thought that was the point of him leaving.”

“There is nothing that can be done,” Sybok says seriously. “He should be deep within the _plak’tow_ by now. Therefore, we must leave immediately.”

“How are you expecting to get anywhere? Magic?” Bones says, waving the hand not steadying Jim in the air. This seems to cause Sybok to pause.

“A piloted vessel would perhaps be easier for you since your species is unused to intergalactic travel,” Sybok muses, rubbing at his chin. “I will call for a ship. In the meanwhile, pack for the journey. Vulcan has a hot climate which may be taxing if you are unprepared.”

Then, Sybok steps around them and goes out into the hall. Jim and Bones share a glance.

“You aren’t actually thinking of going,” Bones says flatly. “You _can’t_ leave Earth, Jim. You’ll die in space!”

Jim pushes away from Bones, moving around the couch to the bedroom. “If Vulcans can handle space travel, then so can I,” he calls back.

Grabbing a duffle bag from his closet, he throws it on the bed and starts shoving stuff in. Shirts, underwear, shorts, an extra pair of shoes, a razor—Jim has literally no conception of what Vulcan is like other than the little of what Spock has told him. It’s hot and like a desert and doesn’t have a moon, but that’s all he knows.

Bones follows him into the room, looking concerned at Jim’s frantic packing. “Jim, space is dangerous!” When Jim doesn’t slow, he tries again. “You’re not an alien!”

“But I am to them!” Jim exclaims, whirling around. At Bones’ shocked expression, Jim sighs and scrubs a hand across his face. “It’s just…Sometimes, it’s like we’re not supposed to be together. Spock has never said anything about it and I know _he_ doesn’t care, but I feel like _they_ do.”

Jim sucks in a breath and tries to steady himself. “They took him away from me before, back when we first met. I had no idea if I would ever see him again. And they did it again, but now he’s dying and I can’t—” He shakes his head and turns back to emptying his drawers. “I can’t be away from him. I know it sounds pathetic, but I just _can’t_.”

Bones purses his lips, obviously looking conflicted. “I should try to stop you,” he considers, “but I know you won’t listen.”

Jim shoots a grin over his shoulder and shoves in the last of his clothes before zipping up the bag. “Trademark Kirk stubbornness.”

Sighing, Bones claps him on the shoulder. “Be safe, kid. And call your mom before you blast into God-knows-where. If you die, at least she can say she yelled at you before you left.” He pauses, then adds, “And try _not_ to die.”

“I’m not gonna die, Bones,” Jim says, rolling his eyes. “Then no one would be here to annoy you.” Bones huffs but smiles, and so does Jim. “Can you make sure no one tries to break in while I’m gone?”

“Sure thing,” Bones tells him, following Jim through the apartment to the door. “Tell the hobgoblin I said hi.”

Jim mentally runs through everything he packed in his head, nods once at Bones, then slips out into the hall. There’s no sign of Sybok so Jim starts down the stairs, pulling out his phone and dialing his mom.

“Jimmy,” she coos when she picks up. “What’s up?”

“Ma,” Jim says firmly, “I’m gonna to tell you something and you can’t freak out.”

“Oh, here we go.” He can practically hear her roll her eyes. “What did you do this time?”

“Spock is really sick and the Vulcans need me to help him get better, so I’m leaving.” He bites his lip and waits for the lecture, but it never comes.

Winona sighs and says, “Well, make sure your passport is still valid—I’m sure if you have those white collars around all the time that’s no problem, they probably keep more tabs on you than I do—and try not to miss too many of your classes.”

Jim shakes his head. “No, Ma, I’m not leaving the country. I…” He pauses on the steps and closes his eyes. “I’m leaving Earth.”

There is silence on the phone.

“ _What?!”_

Wincing, Jim yanks the phone away from his ear just as his mom starts in on a tirade.

“James Tiberius Kirk, don’t even joke about that! You’ll give me a heart attack!”

“I’m not joking! Spock’s dying and I can help him. I’m about to get on a ship with his brother—”

“His brother? Jim, how do you know—”

“Ma, listen—”

“No, _you_ listen!” she snaps, using her dreaded Mom-Voice. “I’m not losing my son on some wild space trek! You’re grounded.”

Jim stops, finally at the bottom of the building’s stairs. “I’m in college, Ma. You can’t ground me.”

“No,” she insists, “I mean you’re _grounded_. You’re not leaving Earth.”

Jim knows he should probably do a better job of explaining his need to leave, but he can hardly think straight knowing Spock is dying without him. Instead, he lets his desperation seep into his voice as he says, “Ma, I _have_ to. If it were you and Dad, wouldn’t you have done something crazy like this?”

He hears nothing, his gut twisting and wondering if he stepped too far. Eventually he hears her suck in a sharp breath and she murmurs softly, “Be careful. And don’t eat anything that looks like it can eat you.”

Jim chuckles once, stepping outside. “Yeah, you got it.”

“I love you, baby.”

The wind picks up, and Jim glances up to see a spaceship descending on the other side of the street. There, he can see Sybok glowering up at it. He even _stands_ different than any other Vulcan Jim has seen. Spock wasn’t kidding when he said Sybok was unconventional.

“I gotta go, Ma,” Jim says, turning back to the phone. “I love you too.”

The ship lands and Jim trots over next to Sybok. The hatch to the ship opens, and another Vulcan in what looks like some kind of flight uniform steps out. He bows his head when he looks at Sybok, but then his eyes slide to Jim. The pilot speaks in his native language, the tone of his voice flat but the crease between his eyebrows making it clear he was confused.

Sybok replies, still sounding aggravated. Jim has no idea what he says, but it irritates the pilot. The pilot tries to speak again, but Sybok snaps something that instantly shuts him down. They glare at each other for a moment like there’s a test of power, but the pilot turns around and goes back into the ship.

“Honestly,” Sybok mutters, this time in English. “Has this planet made it so I am the only one who understands logic?”

“Earth makes us all a little crazy,” Jim says awkwardly, his palms beginning to sweat. Sybok turns and gives him an absurd look before his lips quirk up in a crooked smile.

“Come,” Sybok says, stepping up into the ship. “Any time wasted is causing my brother more pain.”

Jim climbs in after him, the door sealing automatically behind him. The strange technology is slightly reminiscent of what he saw in the shuttle that originally brought Spock to Earth, but this ship is much bigger. Computer panels light up with strange lights and swirling symbols Jim recognizes as Vulcan writing, surrounded by a few chairs spread about the cabin.

Sybok calls something to the pilot farther in the ship, then gestures for Jim to sit in one of the chairs. “We can account for gravitational changes, but because you have not been out of atmosphere before it would be wise to strap yourself in in the event of turbulence.”

Jim didn’t even know space could _have_ turbulence. “Right,” he agrees, but has no idea how to do that. Sybok helps him, touching a section of the wall near the chair and a making a harness looking thing pop out. Jim feels like a little kid getting strapped into a car seat, but in a car that is going into _space_.

“So are you gonna tell me what’s going on with Spock?” Jim asks after Sybok pulls away, sitting next to Jim.

Sybok purses his lips. Jim hears the engines of the ship rev up and his stomach dips as it pushes off the ground.

“It is rarely spoken of,” Sybok tells him, “even within our culture. It is considered taboo.”

“But how can I help him if I don’t know what’s wrong?” Jim counters, trying to keep his voice even as his nerves kick in. He grips the straps around his shoulders a little tighter as the ship picks up speed.

“I never said I would refrain from answering you,” Sybok replies. Jim thinks he might have made him angry, but then looks at his eyes and realizes with a jolt that Sybok is teasing him.

Maybe he and Spock really _are_ related.

“It is called Pon Farr,” Sybok explains. “It is known as our species’ primal mating drive. It occurs once every seven years—”

“Oh hey,” Jim says, suddenly remembering. “I know about that.”

Sybok looks surprised. “You do?”

Jim nods. “Yeah, when Spock came back to me after the first contact he mentioned something like that. And, uh—” Jim’s eyes dart away, feeling his face flush. “Thanks. He said you were pretty much his advocate.”

“Again, sometimes I am the only one who can understand simple logic,” Sybok responds easily. “Now, what else do you know about Pon Farr?”

Jim shrugs. “Not much.” The air around them pops and suddenly Jim is slammed back against the seat with a constraining force. It’s not exactly crushing, but it’s not comfortable either. Sybok looks unaffected, still sitting with casual posture next to him.

“We are breaking atmosphere,” he tells Jim offhandedly. “Your first intergalactic travel should be taken with more caution, but we are in haste.”

“What about Pon Farr makes it so deadly?” Jim asks. “You said it only got bad if a Vulcan was separated from his mate, but I’m not Vulcan.”

“Yet you are Spock’s _t’hy’la_ ,” Sybok points out. “The point of the Pon Farr is to have a set time of mating once a Vulcan has reached sexual maturity. Unless a Vulcan undergoes the mating process with their bonded, they succumb to the _plak’tow_ and eventually die a painful death.” Sybok pauses, then considers something else. “However, Spock is neither bonded to a Vulcan nor has he reached an extended point past sexually maturity, so this situation is a perplexing.”

Jim’s stomach flips in a way that has nothing to do with the space travel. “Wait. Are you saying Spock has to have sex or he’ll die?”

Sybok doesn’t even blink. “Yes.”

Jim feels his throat go dry. “And you’re okay with me…?” he squeaks. Sybok tilts his head to the side in a very Spock-like gesture.

“You are his bondmate,” Sybok says like the answer is obvious. “Why is my consent a question for you?”

“I don’t know!” Jim exclaims, his blood rushing to his face. “If I had to tell Sam’s wife to go have sex with him it would be really weird!”

Sybok’s expression doesn’t change. “It is a matter of simple biology.”

“Well it’s—” Jim splutters for a minute, his face burning. “ _Awkward!_ You’re his brother, you’re supposed to be _preventing_ me from deflowering him, not encouraging it!”

Sybok raises an eyebrow, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Deflowering?”

This is it. This is how Jim will die. Not from space, but harassment from his alien boyfriend’s big brother.

He shakes his head and switches the subject. “If this is a matter of life and death, why did the ambassadors take Spock back to Vulcan? Why didn’t they leave him with me if they knew we needed to be together?”

Sybok’s face hardens. “I presume they did not want our culture’s secrets to be divulged to your species,” he says flatly. “They frequently overlook Spock is from a line of royalty and still deserves the same treatment as my father or I.”

Jim’s gut twists. “Why do they hate him so much? Doesn’t being a prince trump being bonded with a person from another planet?”

Sybok’s lips purse. “ _Hate_ is perhaps not an accurate term, as there are many factors which can affect the answer. It is true our people hold a certain distaste for Spock—the main reason being he and I do not share the same mother. Our father took a servant woman outside of his marital bond in an act of passion, and she became with child. It was a scandalous display of emotion for a Vulcan, much less a ruler, and the woman would have been killed had I not urged him to allow her to bear the child.”

The heaviness of his words sinks in. Jim never knew about _that_. Suddenly the reasons why Spock avoided talking about his childhood made sense. “You’ve been looking out for Spock for a while then, huh?”

A soft smile tugs on the corners of Sybok’s lips. “Contrary to your perception, Vulcans are extremely emotional. Most chose to meditate and maintain control of them as not to give the appearance of weakness. I, however, find that controlling emotion leaves oneself at a loss to experience enlightenment in other areas of life.”

“But,” Jim protests, “being emotional isn’t weak.”

Sybok lets out a soft sigh. “I long for the simplicity of Earth culture.” Then, he turns serious again. “Jim, when you see my brother, he will be in an extreme state of physical and mental depravity. His mental shields will be completely broken. He will essentially be a slave to his emotions and will not listen to logic or reason.” Sybok pauses, then warns, “It may frighten you.”

Jim shakes his head, already knowing it wouldn’t. “I could never be afraid of Spock.” He thinks about how gentle Spock is, how even before they could speak each other’s languages they could communicate and work together. “I trust him,” Jim admits. “I love him. And I know he loves me. He’d never hurt me.”

Sybok looks satisfied from this answer. “Very well. But once you are in his presence, you will not be able to leave until the _plak’tow_ has passed.”

“I don’t care,” Jim says firmly. “If he needs me, I won’t leave him.”

Sybok’s expression is warm as he nods. “Good. We are in descent.”

~*~

Sybok keeps a careful eye on Jim as soon as they land. Earth has heavier oxygen content than Vulcan, along with a thicker atmosphere and only one sun—differences which could easily impair a human. As soon as Jim steps off the ship, the influence of the atmosphere is obvious. His breath stutters and a dazed expression crosses his face because of the sudden shift. Sybok moves closer and is ready to catch him in case he falls, though he is unsure of what his plan would be if Spock’s bondmate perishes from the shift in atmosphere.

It would not be his fault, not really. It was not even Spock’s fault. Those imbeciles in the council who thought they had the privilege of deciding Spock’s fate were to blame.

Sybok tries not to think of this as he leads Jim into the palace. He slows his pace to accommodate Jim’s wheezing breath and altered center of gravity. Sybok can tell Jim obviously wants to stop and obverse the new world he just stepped into—his blue eyes are wide and dart around quickly, taking in every detail.

He is about to tell Jim he can have the freedom to explore later once Spock’s Time has passed, but another sight causes him to pause.

Jim stumbles into him, unable to stop so abruptly. “Sorry,” Jim mutters, instantly stepping back. “I—”

But Sybok is not paying attention, only focused on the figure at the other end of the hall.

“T’Pring,” Sybok calls. The elegantly dressed young woman stops and turns. Her eyes go wide for a moment at the sight of him, but then her face relapses into perfect composure.

“My Lord,” she greets in Vulcan, inclining her head in respect. Sybok frowns, stepping forward.

“What is your purpose of being on this side of the palace?” he questions. She raises her head, her chin pointed in same infuriating regal way as Sarek.

“I am to attend to Spock,” she answers simply. This makes Sybok’s frown deepen.

“You are no longer bonded to him,” Sybok points out. “You are excused from this process.”

T’Pring straightens, holding her chin impossibly higher. “I am his only option. Regardless of our broken bond, he will—”

She stops speaking. Jim must have peered around him to see what was going on. T’Pring’s eyes widen comically and she steps back.

“What is this?” she asks fiercely. Her nose wrinkles in disgust and she glances back up at Sybok in disbelief.

“ _This_ ,” Sybok says, feeling annoyance prickle at him, “is Spock’s bondmate.”

“Impossible,” she spits. “This is—” She shakes her head. “This is unheard of. This creature cannot endure the Pon Farr with Spock. He is not Vulcan.”

“No,” Sybok admits. “But he is Spock’s _t’hy’la_. He has more right to be with Spock than you.”

T’Pring scowls, glowering past him at Jim. “Our culture cannot be shared like this, Sybok. It is not right.”

Sybok raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Do you wish to challenge him for Spock?”

T’Pring opens her mouth to retort, then closes it. She shifts her glare up to him, her dark eyes furious. “The council will hear of this,” she hisses, then turns on her heel and stalks off.

Sybok lets out a breath through his lips, already feeling a headache forming. Why no one was taking his little brother’s bond serious escaped him. At his side, Jim awkwardly clears his throat.

“Um,” Jim says softly in Terran, “What was that?”

“Another problem I must attend to,” Sybok responds. Jim looks at a loss, and he draws his bottom lip between his teeth. He looks conflicted, multiple emotions expressed so clearly on his face Sybok doesn’t need to touch him to know what he is thinking.

“I...am I—?”

“Jim,” Sybok says gently. “You are bonded with Spock. Do not question yourself or your presence here.”

“But she didn’t seem to like me very much,” Jim tells him, rubbing at the back of his neck. His face, which is already flushed pink from the heat, turns a darker shade of rose. He appears to be more concerned about whether the members of an alien race liked him rather than being afraid of the race itself.

How curious.

Sybok scoffs. “T’Pring has never been fond of me, either,” he admits, and Jim brightens. “Now come.”

He strides faster this time, wary of running into another obstacle. The last thing they needed was to get caught by his father; as an off-worlder, Jim’s presence should have been approved or notified by the governing council, two of which things Sybok disregarded. Jim’s residency needed to be kept a secret—at least until Spock’s Time had passed.

Sybok leads Jim to the door outside Spock’s chambers. Jim turns his eyes on him as if expecting an explanation, so Sybok gives him one.

“This should be where he is being kept.”

Jim’s eyes widen. “Kept?” he repeats, sounding concerned. “Spock’s okay though, right?”

“He should be.” Sybok has no inclination of how far Spock is gone at this point. He could be just entering the _plak’tow_ or he could be deep within it. Though he cannot explain this to Jim without taking up more time than they already had wasted.

Jim looks at the door warily. “Are you coming in with me to check on him?”

Sybok shakes his head. “I cannot. I will be viewed as a threat.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “A threat? You’re his brother!”

“Not to him,” Sybok clarifies. “A threat to his claim over you.”

If Jim understands, Sybok does not know. He turns back to the door and sucks in a breath and seems to balance himself. Then, the human opens the door and slips inside the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my gosh, this was my favorite chapter to write. (It was also the first one I wrote for this story. The more you know. ;) ) Tell me what you think!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the updates are coming later than usual, I've been working on two other AUs for this fandom and it's killing me. Hopefully they'll be posted soon. But until then, enjoy the chapter you've all been waiting for! ;)

It hits Spock like a wave of cool relief—but then the scorching heat returns tenfold when his mind recognizes his mate’s presence. But he must be mistaken. Jim _couldn’t_ be here. It did not make any sense. He did not have access to a starship, could not leave his planet, could not have access to the palace. Spock must be more disorientated than he thought. There was _no way_ —

“Spock?”

Spock’s head snaps up from where he had been previously curled on the floor next to his bed, his eyes locking on where the voice came from.

 _Jim_.

Jim is here, somehow, in this room. He is beautiful, his face flushed pink from the heat. He is so different, so exotic it _hurts_ to look at him. Because Spock _wants_ him—to capture him with his body and mouth and _claim_ him in the way of his ancestors—

Spock curls tighter around himself. He _can’t_. He cannot mate with Jim, not like this. Spock would injure him, kill him. But just the sight of Jim makes him groan in need.

Jim apparently mistakes this as a cry for help. “Spock,” he says softly, dropping the bag around his shoulder and crossing the room quickly to kneel in front of him. “It’s okay, I’m here now. I can help you—”

Jim reaches out to touch him, but Spock flinches back—once Jim lays a hand on him, he knows he will be lost to the blood fever. _And he can’t hurt Jim_.

“Jim,” Spock hisses, trying to convey his desperation. It’s so hard to think, to speak. “Do—do not touch me.”

Pain flashes across Jim’s face before it is replaced by determination and resolve. “You’re not well, Spock,” he says, his voice breezing like a cool wind across Spock’s burning skin. “I want to take care of you, but you have to let me.”

Spock shakes his head violently. He body _needs_ this but he refuses succumb. “You—do not—understand.” Each word he forces past his lips is harder than the last. His whole body is trembling but forces out, “I’ll hurt you.”

At this, Jim smiles softly. The sight makes the heat under Spock’s skin almost impossible to bear. “Spock, you’re not gonna hurt me. I love you.”

And that does it. He can’t hold back his instincts anymore, uncurling and pouncing on Jim. Jim’s breath gets verbally knocked from him as he hits the floor, but Spock doesn’t let him catch it as he captures his mouth with his own.

Spock moans, the pressure in his head finally releasing at the feeling of Jim’s skin against his own. He attacks Jim’s mouth, his tongue tangling messily with his mate’s. Spock presses every inch of his body to Jim’s, not caring if his weight is crushing, just needing to feel Jim as much as he can.

Jim breaks the kiss with a gasp, desperately sucking in air to his lungs. Spock instead turns to press kisses along his flushed cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his round ears. When Spock moves to his neck, Jim squirms deliciously, and when Spock nips into the soft flesh Jim yelps.

“Spock! Did you just—”

Spock captures his lips again. He doesn’t want Jim to talk. He wants to tear Jim apart.

Jim moves to wrap his hands around the back of Spock’s neck, but Spock catches his wrists and slams them down to the floor, keeping them held above his head. Spock hikes Jim’s legs up, wrapping them around his waist and grinding down. Jim moans, which only fuels the fire under Spock’s skin.

Logic gives way to primal instinct. He captures Jim’s earlobe in his teeth as he grinds his hips down brutally, tilting dangerously toward the madness of what his body craved. Keeping Jim’s wrists held high in one hand, he uses the other to paw at his hips, literally ripping the fabric of Jim’s pants to grab at his cock.

Jim chokes when Spock’s hand wraps around him, his hips jolting and his back arching. “Spock—God, Spock—”

Spock kisses him harder, now fueled by the determination of bringing his mate to orgasm. He moves to kiss Jim again, licking and devouring the taste of him while working his hand up and down. The telepathic feeling of Jim’s pleasure through his skin is invigorating, sparking like electricity in Spock’s mind. It causes the coil of heat in his stomach to wrap impossibly tighter.

Jim becomes more verbal, hissing his name between moans and gasps, each noise like a symphony. He can feel the urgency building in Jim, and Spock releases his wrists to fumble at the psy-points on Jim’s face.

“Do it,” Jim gasps out, recognizing what he was trying to do. “Spock, please.”

He lines up his fingers and presses their minds together.

The emotion Spock feels just as Jim orgasms overtakes him. Jim, in his essence, bursts with light and love and feeling, so strong and pure and perfect, finally quenching the thirst Spock felt for so long. Jim cries out, and Spock follows him over the edge, finally relinquishing control and allowing himself to fall into the oasis of Jim’s mind.

~*~

Jim opens his eyes, not remembering when he closed them. He can’t seem to catch his breath; that was one of the most intense orgasms he’s ever had, and he and Spock hadn’t even fucked. He guesses it must have something to do with the meld—it was more intense, too. Maybe it has something to do with Pon Farr.

His legs are still wrapped around Spock’s hips, his clothes still half on. His Vulcan has his face pressed to Jim’s neck, his breath coming in heavy and smooth despite their previous activities.

“Are you feeling better?” Jim asks breathily as tugs gently at Spock’s hair to pull him back.

“The _plak-tow_ has subsided for now,” Spock answers just as softly. He looks down at Jim and frowns. “Though I am finding a distaste for your attire.”

Before Jim can say anything, Spock sits back and starts pulling at Jim’s shirt—no, _ripping_. Jim swears and scrambles to try to get rid of the fabric before Spock can get to it, but it mainly gets destroyed. Spock tugs his own robe off and then wraps around Jim like an octopus. Jim is still sweating from the heat of the planet and the post orgasm bliss, but he doesn’t complain about the hot body around his.

“You neanderthal,” Jim teases when Spock nuzzles against his chest, pressing kisses to the area above his heart. “Finally using that superior strength against me, huh?”

It causes Spock to pause, stopping and raising his forehead from Jim’s chest to lock his dark eyes on his. They look more alert than before.

“Jim,” Spock says, finally sounding more like himself. “How did you get here?”

“Sybok got me,” Jim answers simply.

Spock’s eyes widen. “How did he get you approved by the council so quickly?”

Jim frowns. “Council?” he repeats. “What council?”

Spock’s eyebrows shoot up past his bangs and he mutters something under his breath that Jim thinks might be a curse.

“He said I needed to mate with you or else you’d die,” Jim continues. “That you were in Pon Farr.” He tests the water with his pronunciation, and when Spock doesn’t correct him, he guesses he got it right. “Is it over?”

Spock shakes his head, his eyes gradually growing darker the longer he looks at Jim. “My Time will continue for several days.”

Jim grins impishly. “Are you telling me you biologically need to have a sex marathon with me?” Spock looks a bit unimpressed at his wording, and it makes Jim laugh. “Oh my God, this is the best alien vacation ever.”

He leans up and kisses Spock gently. A low moan gets ripped from Spock’s throat, almost like a growl, and he immediately takes over, pressing Jim down to the floor and flicking his tongue in a way that Jim didn’t even know was possible. It’s an odd change of dynamics—normally, Jim is the one who tackles Spock whenever he feels horny or happy or angry or just whenever he can, really, because he can’t ever get enough of Spock—but it’s not unpleasant.

“I could get used to you playing all dominant,” Jim says when Spock moves to kiss down his throat and shoulders.

Spock doesn’t answer, instead dragging his lips across Jim’s skin in a tantalizing way. When he swipes his tongue across Jim’s nipple, his skin breaks out in goosebumps.

“Hey, wait,” Jim gasps, his hands weaving into Spock’s thick hair despite everything. “Spock, I can’t go again so soon.”

Spock lifts his head, looking puzzled. “Go again?” he repeats.

“Humans need a longer resting period after sex than Vulcans, apparently,” Jim explains with humor. Spock pouts—literally _pouts_ —making him chuckle. “Hey, just because I can’t get it up doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you.”

Spock tilts his head. “What?” But Jim is already moving, standing and tugging Spock over to the bed. He doesn’t protest when Jim pushes him to sit on the edge of the furniture, but looks confused when he goes to take Jim’s hips but Jim steps just out of reach.

“Ah, ah,” Jim chastises, “you’re not changing my mind that easily.”

“Jim,” Spock tries again, giving him a strange look when he pushes his legs apart and kneels between them. “What are you doing?”

Jim presses a kiss to the inside of Spock’s knee, keeping one eye on the hard, mostly human cock in proximity. “I must really suck at being seductive if you have to ask.”

A light green dusting spreads across Spock’s cheeks when Jim starts trailing his lips toward Spock’s inner thigh, but he is unrelenting. “You did not answer my question.”

Suddenly, a thought occurs to Jim and he pulls away, sitting on his heels but keeping both hands on Spock’s knees. “Are blowjobs not a thing for Vulcans?”

Spock blinks, his face innocently blank. “Blowjobs?” he repeats.

“Yeah, like sucking cock.” At Spock’s startled face, Jim laughs. “I guess not, then. I’ll show you.” Jim leans forward, but Spock tugs a hand into his hair—not pulling but just holding, as if to keep his attention.

“Jim,” he says, sounding flustered. “You—using your mouth in that manner is unsanitary.”

Jim hums, making a show of licking his lips and looking up though his eyelashes at Spock. Spock bites his lip—he looks like he’s warring with himself again, his body obviously needing the release but his mind unwilling to take the risk. Jim decides he needs to teach his Vulcan a thing or two about relinquishing control.

“You trust me, don’t you, Spock?” Jim murmurs sweetly into the soft skin of his inner thigh.

“Yes,” Spock responds immediately.

“Then let me do this for you,” Jim all but purrs. He can feel how Spock’s hand is trembling slightly in his hair. “I’m here to take care of you, right?”

“Yes,” he says again, this time his voice is hitched. “But your mouth should be used for substance and speech—”

He cuts off with a sharp gasp when Jim licks a stripe up the underside of his cock. Jim doesn’t even try to hide his smugness at the flushing of Spock’s skin.

“You were saying?”

“Jim,” Spock says sharply, and despite his disheveled appearance his eyes have shifted again, taking on that fierce, near black look Jim is starting to associate with Pon Farr. Part of Jim wants to tease him more, make Spock squirm for it instead of maintaining that cool composure, but he knows he can’t. He needs to help his alien boyfriend get through this sex craze, and more teasing than necessary would just be mean.

Not wasting more time, Jim engulfs the tip of Spock’s cock into his mouth. He means to go slow, to get Spock used to the idea of having his dick sucked, but the second he passes Jim’s lips Spock all but screams. One of his hands flies up to cover his mouth and the other grabs on to the edge of the bed so tightly that had the furniture been made for humans it would have cracked.

Jim waits a second, looking up to gauge if it was okay to go further. Spock doesn’t stop him. In fact, he looks a little cross-eyed as his hips twitch forward on the bed. Jim takes that as invitation as any, and slowly inches down the rest of Spock’s length. Spock lets out a strangled cry that sends heat shooting down to Jim’s dick—maybe _he_ can get with the program a little faster, too.

He turns his attention back on Spock, bobbing up and down as he sucks, creating a rhythm. Spock curls around him, his legs trembling at Jim’s sides. His hands flit from his mouth, to the bed, to Jim’s hair, to clenching into fists in the sheets—like he doesn’t quite know how to handle the pleasure he’s experiencing. Jim works to maintain the rhythm he’s set despite Spock’s sporadic hip jerking, and breathes sharply through his nose whenever he can. But what little discomfort he experiences is worth listening to Spock fall apart above him.

“Jim—” he whimpers, and he sounds so vulnerable. “I-I—”

But Jim already knows—Spock’s breaths are getting faster and his moans are louder—he’s close. Jim nearly pulls all the way off and goes back down, flattening his tongue against the underside of Spock’s cock, sucking harder and hollowing out his cheeks. Then, he hums, and that’s what does it.

The vibration causes a high moan to tear through Spock’s throat, and then Spock is coming, his seed spilling hot and thick down Jim’s throat. Spock tastes sweet but bitter, almost like honey, but not quite. It’s definitely a taste Jim wants more of.

After he is done swallowing, Jim pulls off with an audible ‘pop’ and looks up. Spock looks almost wild, flushed a deep shade of olive from the tips of his ears down to his shoulders. The dazed look in his eyes doesn’t last long, as he snaps out of it and pulls Jim up to the bed. They fall back together, Spock curling around him exactly like he did earlier, only maybe a little more boneless this time.

“I stand corrected,” Spock pants. “Humans have clearly found an advantage to using their mouths, even if it is unhygienic.”

Jim rolls his eyes, but grins all the same. “You think _that’s_ the only advantage we’ve found for sex?” He nearly laughs at the Vulcan’s wide eyes. “Oh, Mister Spock,” he says, sweetly pressing a kiss to Spock’s nose. “I’m gonna make you see stars.”

~*~

The feeling of Jim’s skin under his own is sublime. Spock can feel the waves of pleasure as they course through his mate, echoing his own feelings of bliss and ecstasy. It extends past just telepathic connection—Spock feels the bond between them grow stronger and brighter with every passing hour. He has never felt this much euphoria, even if it did stem from physical passion.

Jim is just as talented in intimate acts as he alluded to. He introduces Spock to a various number of positions and techniques Spock had not considered before, such as sucking on Spock’s fingers very much like he had done so to his penis and using his tongue to swipe across his entrance. Once Jim even brings Spock to orgasm simply by whispering arousing words into the shell of his ear while moving his fingers in and out of him.

Jim confounds him in every way, and Spock can feel himself fall a little deeper into the love he is already in after every release. The once fierce and painful inferno within him starts to abate into a soft, warm heat, thrumming inside of his chest. The possessiveness is still there, but it is lessened with the feeling of his mate’s body pressed against his own and comfort in holding both lust and love.

Spock comes to the realization he has been misinformed about what he previously presumed was his species’ weakest point. Pon Farr is not _violent_ , but _passionate_. And perhaps the emotional release is what frightened his ancestors, but Spock feels nothing but content in his love for his _t’hy’la_.

Jim is incredibly active and eager the first few days, practically attacking Spock with pleasure in a way that makes him think Jim has also contracted a kind of sexual appetite sickness. But as the days stretch on, the Vulcan mating drive proves to be too much for a human.

Spock tries not to feel too guilty about taking Jim when he is obviously tired, but his body can’t help it.

“Do you need to rest?” Spock asks at one point, slowing his movements to a stop. Jim blinks down at him from where he is seated on Spock’s cock, his face flushed and his expression dazed, as if waking up from a dream.

 “I—what?” Jim stutters.

“Do you need to rest?” Spock repeats.

Jim squirms, looking uncomfortable for a moment before he tries to shift his hips up, but Spock’s hands easily hold him still. His expression is one of frustration as he snaps, “If you even think about stopping right now I’m going to kill you.”

Spock raises an eyebrow and does not think this is possible in the slightest, but does not point this out.

“Very well,” he says, and thrusts his hips back up. Whatever frustration Jim felt instantly dissipates, and his head falls back in a loud moan.

When not previously occupied, they ate and slept, leaving no time for any action in-between. Their positions varied, from Spock bending Jim over the bed, to Jim taking him from the side, to Spock bouncing Jim on his lap—occasionally they end up on the floor or against the wall due to Spock’s haphazard methods. But it did not matter where they fall together; if they were united, it is enough.

Out of all the various positions, Spock’s favorite is when Jim is on top of him, his full weight pressing comfortably down onto him, Spock’s legs hitched up over his shoulders. The combined feeling of Jim entering him and watching the expression on his face is truly…fascinating.

By the sixth day, the drive to mate begins to subside. That night after Jim passes out from exhaustion, Spock feels himself fall into a slumber deeper than before, the pressure on his mind and body finally releasing its hold.

Now, he knows, it is over.

~*~

Jim lost track of time days ago, but the next time he wakes up, Spock is asleep. It’s the first time he’s woken up first in a while. The room is sweltering, but he refuses to unwrap himself from Spock’s arms. After the hectic past few days, it felt nice just to relax—and Jim couldn’t really move, anyway. He was sore. _Everywhere_.

He shifts forward just a bit and presses his lips to the hollow of Spock’s neck. Spock shifts, half of his face still mashed into the weird roll-like pillow, a strange rumbling noise coming from his throat. It doesn’t sound like a moan and his eyes are still closed, but maybe he’s awake?

“Spock,” Jim whispers, his throat scratchy from all the screaming he’d been doing lately, among other things. “Are you awake?”

Spock shifts again, this time slowly blinking his eyes open. The noise stops, and Spock’s eyes are so full of love it makes Jim’s heart flutter.

“Jim,” Spock says softly, reaching up and running two fingers over Jim’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”

“Were you just purring?” Jim asks, completely ignoring the question. “That sounded like you were purring.”

Spock sighs softly, but doesn’t correct him. He looks content as he continues to trail the side of Jim’s body with Vulcan kisses. Jim, however, is delighted.

“You never told me you can purr!” he says, beaming. “Oh my God, you’re a cat!”

“Jim, please,” Spock says fondly, “now is not the time.” He trails his hand back up and brings it to the side of Jim’s face. “Are you well?”

“I’m tired,” Jim admits. He stretches, his legs and arms instantly burning in protest. “Also, I don’t think I can walk. You broke me.”

Jim meant it as a joke, but Spock’s face drops. “I apologize for hurting you; it was never my intention. I was wary of bringing you here—”

“I’m kidding, Spock,” Jim assures him, pressing a quick kiss to Spock’s palm. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m exhausted, but I just endured a week of endless fucking. Humans aren’t built for that.”

“I know,” Spock says, his voice still somber. “That is why I requested I be taken back to Vulcan alone. I did not wish to involve you.”

“What?” Jim cries, sitting up in shock. “Spock, you _asked_ to be taken away from me when you knew it could kill you? What the _hell_ is wrong with you?”

Spock sits up as well. “I was concerned about what I would do to you,” Spock says. “You are human. You are delicate compared to me—I did not want to inflict any kind of violence on you.”

Jim shakes his head. “But you weren’t violent! And you could have died!”

Spock trains his eyes on his lap as he says softly, “I would rather die than hurt you in any way, Jim.”

Jim’s throat tightens. “For a genius, you can be such an idiot,” Jim bites out. He reaches up and pinches the pointed tip of Spock’s ear. Spock jerks back, looking at Jim like he’s gone crazy. “Did you really think leaving me without any kind of explanation of why you were sick would cause me no harm?”

“I was attempting to protect you,” Spock retorts sharply, glowering at him.

“I don’t need _protection_ , goddamn it!” Jim hisses. “I need _you!_ ” Spock blinks, his eyebrows shooting up. Jim feels his face flush. “I-I’m sorry, I was just so afraid when you left again, I thought—”

“Jim,” Spock says softly, instantly shutting him up. “It is I who should apologize. For my people, emotions are considered an impairment on judgement. I tried to follow the logic of my mind, but I should have known to listen to my heart as well.” He takes Jim’s hand and presses their fingers together in a Vulcan kiss. “I will not disclose any more information from you, nor will I leave with no explanation again.”

“Especially if you’re dying,” Jim notes.

Spock nods, “Yes.”

Jim smiles, relief flooding his veins. He leans forward and presses his lips to Spock’s in a soft kiss. The Vulcan responds to his touch easily, kissing gentler than he has in days, and after a second the rumbling noise Jim heard before starts up again. Jim pulls back so fast it startles Spock.

“Purring!” Jim cries. “You’re totally purring.”

Spock looks toward the ceiling in what Jim thinks is an eyeroll. He weaves their fingers together and asks, “Are you hungry?”

In response, Jim’s stomach growls. Spock smirks, and Jim feels his ears heat. “Shut up.”

“I did not say anything,” Spock deadpans, but there is a teasing light in his eyes. He gets up from the bed and walks to the other side, moving entirely too gracefully for someone who has just had a week-long sex marathon.

It’s not fair.

Jim’s movements are slow and shaky as Spock helps him stand, leaning on Spock heavily. He can feel the bruises on his body pulse with every movement. He takes a step forward and winces—he didn’t even know it was possible for his ass to feel this sore.

Spock gently leads him over to what Jim assumes is his closet, and pulls out a robe. He hands it to Jim, looking only a little guilty. Around day three was when Spock tore into the rest of his clothes. The fabric is still spread around the room in shreds.

“The temperature will drop soon,” Spock informs him. “It is nearly night.”

Jim frowns, glancing out a window. It still looks like it’s daylight to him, but he’s not going to argue with the person who is from this planet. “How can you tell?”

“Vulcan has two suns,” Spock explains. He helps Jim step into the clothing, Jim feeling very much like a child as he relies on Spock’s assistance. “The sky is slightly dimmer, so one has completed its rotation for the day. Soon the other will follow, presumably by the time you eat.”

But then Spock’s eyes seem to twinkle as he says, “Then, I can show you the stars from _my_ sky.”


	6. Chapter 6

Spock guides him through the stone walls of the palace, patiently stopping whenever something caught his attention. The halls are empty and dimly lit, so maybe Spock was right when he said it’s night. Still, Jim’s eyes are wide as he took in every possible detail from this unknown world. Because it’s more than an alien planet—it’s where Spock grew up.

“What did you do here?” Jim asks, his curiosity taking over. “What was your average day like? Did you go to school?”

Spock raises an amused eyebrow at his sudden onset of questions, but doesn’t slow his pace when he answers. “I never attended schooling in the same way you do. Tutors came to my brother when he was of age, and then they came to me. I spent most of my time in study or meditation.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Jim says, rolling his eyes fondly. “But what kind of stuff happened here?”

“Sybok frequently enjoyed hunting excursions,” Spock offers.

Jim shakes his head. “But that isn’t what _you_ did.”

“He took me once when I was very young,” Spock counters. “I did not enjoy it.”

Jim stops, and so does Spock. “Didn’t you ever do anything? Like run outside, or make sandcastles or something?”

Spock purses his lips. “I can play the lyre.” Jim makes a face, and Spock lets out soft breath. “Jim, I was not allowed out of the palace without an escort for most of my life. Once I gained that freedom, I did not wish to leave for fear of scrutiny. I hardly ever left the grounds—I met you purely by fortunate coincidence.”

Jim’s eyes narrow playfully. “I thought there wasn’t any logic in coincidence.”

“I am finding there is no logic in _you_ ,” Spock responds, his lips pulling up. “You perplex me at every opportunity.”

Jim puffs out his chest. “I try my best. Someone’s gotta get under that pale skin of yours.” Spock does his not-eyeroll again, and Jim snickers. “But c’mon, I wanna see those stars.”

Spock nods and they head down the hall and up a few stone staircases. At this level, there are no walls, only columns and a large balcony overlooking the grounds below. Jim follows Spock out onto the balcony and looks down, but it was too dark for him to really see anything.

Jim is too busy squinting down to notice Spock climbing onto the balcony’s railing. When Spock offers him his hand, Jim’s eyebrows shoot up.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I was under the impression you prefer roofs,” Spock tells him. And even though it’s dark and there isn’t any moonlight to illuminate his face, Jim knows he’s smirking.

Never one to give up a challenge, Jim takes Spock’s hand and climbs onto the railing. His muscles are still sore, but he maintains his balance easily enough. Spock lightly steps around to the other side of the balcony and gracefully scales a column, pulling himself up onto the roof. Jim watches in awe and wonders if he’s done this before.

Jim knows he’s not limber enough to do that normally, but after the week he’s had and in this weird heavy robe thing there is no way he could even think about attempting a feat like that. But Spock seems to know this too, because he easily pulls Jim up to his level.

“Are we supposed to be doing this?” Jim asks, raising an eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem very logical.” The roof is flat rather than slanted, made of stone tile cool to the touch. But Jim isn’t really looking down at this point.

The stars above him are different—they are colored white and red and green, all in strange new constellations and orbits. Jim feels his heart stops beating. Bones was right, in this sense—space was vast and mysterious, but Jim wanted to touch every star he saw and uncover the secrets they held.

“Your galaxy,” Spock says softly, breaking the silence, “is there.” He points to a dim spot in the sky that Jim can’t even begin to see.

Then, he starts to think of the craziness of it all, of his _life_ —of Spock and the off chance of them meeting in Iowa, how they fell in love before they could even talk to each other, how good it felt to be together, like he was finally _complete_ —it was like it was _meant_ to happen, like destiny. Because what were the odds such a perfect creature like Spock could stumble onto a planet in the distant galaxy and become entirely devoted to someone like him?

Jim feels the emotion well up inside of him and he swipes at his eyes before the tears fall. Spock looks alarmed.

“Jim, are you well?”

Jim nods and smiles. “I’m well, Spock,” he answers, drawing closer. “I’m completely satisfactory.” He closes the distance between them and kisses him. Spock instantly responds, and they fall into a smooth rhythm, affection pulsing through him in what Jim assumes is part of the telepathic bond.

He’s still dazed when Spock pulls back. But Spock is looking away from him, toward the edge of where the roof drops off.

“Little one!” comes a call from below. He shifts away from Spock and leans over the overhang to see a shadowy figure of what he thinks might be Sybok under them on the balcony. “Are you done playing yet?”

Spock huffs quietly behind him. Jim can’t help but snicker as he says, “Little one? Really?”

Spock looks at him in surprise. “You understood him?”

Jim raises an eyebrow. “I’m not deaf, Spock.”

Shaking his head in disbelief, Spock says, “Sybok was speaking in Vulcan.” He tilts his head and frowns. “Can you understand me like this?”

Jim nods. “Uh-huh.”

Spock’s eyes go wide. “Fascinating. Perhaps because our bond was strengthened—”

“Spock!” Sybok calls again. “I am aware of your presence and I know you can hear me.”

Spock shoots the source of Sybok’s voice a distasteful look, causing Jim to snort. Spock carefully steps to the edge of the roof and says, “I am listening.”

“T’Pau wishes for an audience,” Sybok says. “I suggest you do not keep her waiting.”

Spock’s spine straightens at the sound of the name. He glances over his shoulder at Jim and calls down, “Relay that I will speak with her once Jim is resting.”

Sybok crosses his arms over his chest. “That would be unwise,” he says, “considering she wishes to speak to him and not you.”

Spock’s eyebrows shoot up. Jim carefully inches toward Spock and whispers, “Who’s T’Pau?”

Spock purses his lips and doesn’t answer right away. Jim pokes him in the upper arm. “No more disclosure of information, remember?”

He still looks slightly wary. “T’Pau is a high-ranking member of the governing council.” He pauses, then adds, “She is also my grandmother.”

“Oh,” Jim says. He leans down over the roof. “Why does she want to talk to me?”

At this, Sybok lifts his shoulders in a slight shrug. Jim turns to Spock, who offers him the same blank look.

Great—he’s on another planet in another galaxy, just got done with a week-long sex-marathon with his boyfriend/husband/bondmate, experienced “the talk” from said boyfriend/husband/bondmate’s older brother, and now is going to get interrogated by his authoritative grandma.

Jim blows a breath through his lips. “I mean, bring it on, I guess. I made it this far, right?” He jokes, hiding his own anxiety. Spock extends two fingers, and Jim replicates the gesture, instantly feeling better at the sparking touch.

Spock climbs back down onto the balcony, then helps him down as well. Spock still has his arm around his waist when they land in front of Sybok. When Spock doesn’t immediately move away, Jim feels a blush rise to his cheeks.

“Your face can turn so many colors, Jim,” Sybok says bluntly. Jim’s face heats even further, and Sybok bursts into loud laugher before lumbering back inside the palace.

“I can’t believe you grew up with him,” Jim mutters.

“I am often dumbfounded as well,” Spock returns, releasing Jim’s waist. “Come, we mustn’t keep T’Pau waiting.”

Jim follows Spock inside, back down the halls they went through before. Sybok strides a distance ahead, and Spock keeps his pace slow to match Jim’s.

“What is she like?” Jim asks quietly. “Your grandmother. Is she like you, or like Sybok?”

Spock considers this before answering, “Neither. She is like my father.”

Jim has only seen Sarek twice, when he broke into his house in Iowa when he thought he was rescuing Spock and again passing in the hospital in San Francisco. But this T’Pau woman couldn’t break into his house, and Jim is sure as hell hoping she didn’t have a scary guard that would throw a gun in his face.

“She is brutally logical,” Spock continues, sounding anxious. “I am confused, as I do not know her reasoning to want to speak with you.”

“You think she’s gonna out logic me?” Jim jokes. “C’mon Spock, you said so yourself. My human behavior doesn’t make any sense.”

They catch up with Sybok in front of a closed door that looks similar to the one outside of Spock’s room, only bigger. Spock is stiffer than usual, so Jim nudges his shoulder.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” Jim says gently. “Who cares if she hates me? We’re not exactly the most orthodox couple to begin with.”

Spock doesn’t smile like Jim was hoping for, but his eyes soften and his shoulders relax—barely, but just enough. Jim brushes their fingers together at his side, hoping Spock can feel his love and composure through the brief skin contact. Then for the second time on this alien excursion, Jim pulls open the door and steps into the unknown.

~*~

The room is dark. The air smells flowery, like there was a kind of incense burning. Jim’s eyes instantly start to water from the heaviness of the smoke.

“Approach,” a raspy voice calls. Jim rubs at his eyes, clearing the tears and trying to get his vision to focus. He eventually makes out a figure in the center of the small room on what looks like a yoga mat. He shuffles closer, every movement sounding ten times louder in the peaceful darkness.

A Vulcan woman with her black and gray hair pulled up into an elegant braided bun is sitting cross-legged on the floor. Jim recognizes the position as the one Spock takes whenever he meditates. Her eyes remain closed, even when he moves over; if he hadn’t heard her speak, he’d think she was asleep.

“Sit,” the woman instructs, her voice heavily accented but holding unquestionable authority. Jim does, trying to take the same cross-legged position but having difficulty maneuvering in the heavy robe. Seriously, how did Spock _move_ in this thing?

One of her eyes peeks open as she takes in his struggle. “Does thee meditate?” she asks, as if genuinely curious.

Jim shakes his head, taking a second too long to find his voice. “Uh, n-no. I’ve just seen Spock do this when he meditates at home.”

As soon as he says it, he wants to pull the words back into his mouth. Not only did he stutter, but he also pretty much admitted to watching Spock do things he probably shouldn’t. But Vulcans have different standards for relationships, that much Jim had already learned. So maybe watching meditation wasn’t creepy?

T’Pau says nothing and closes her eyes again. It’s quiet, but Jim is sure she can hear the fast beat of his heart echoing throughout the room. The incense is starting to make his throat tight, and he does his best to monitor his breath, refusing to cough.

After a while, Jim wonders if she has actually fallen asleep. Then T’Pau suddenly breaks the silence by asking bluntly, “What is thee called?”

“James Kirk, ma’am,” Jim answers automatically.

“James Kirk,” she repeats, her accent sharp around the syllables of his name. “Thee has bonded with my grandson.”

“Yes,” Jim answers immediately again. “I’m his _t’hy’la._ ”

At this, T’Pau opens her eyes and finally turns to face him. Even though Jim _knows_ her eyes aren’t black, they look much darker than Spock’s or any of the other Vulcans Jim has seen.

Like a shark’s.

“Does thee know what a _t’hy’la_ bond entails?” she questions. Jim feels like he’s being tested, so he bites his lip in concentration and chooses his next words carefully.

“I know it’s sacred,” he says. “It’s like a bond between friends and brothers, but stronger. It’s rare and special.” He pauses, then continues more confidently, “It’s a stronger form of love. And I know you guys don’t believe in love or emotion, but I know both Spock and I feel it.”

Jim is kind of expecting her to argue with him and braces himself for another philosophical question, but T’Pau surprises him by saying, “Thee saved Spock when he crashed on thy planet.” It’s more of a statement than a question, but Jim nods anyway.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Jim blinks. “Er…Because I had to? His ship was on fire and he was hurt. I couldn’t just leave him to die in my backyard.”

“Even though it was a risk to thy culture and thy own life, thee assisted in his healing process and kept him from harm.” The way she says it is like she’s reading list of facts rather than questioning Jim’s actions. It’s unsettling, mainly because Jim never thought of saving Spock as being such a big deal before. It was just something he _did_ , something he _needed_ to do.

“Yeah, I suppose,” he answers. “I didn’t really think much that night—or apply logic.” He chuckles awkwardly at his own joke.

“Thee acted selflessly in a dire situation,” T’Pau tells him simply. “An act of nobility that followed the course of survival instinct.”

Jim doesn’t know how to respond, flushing slightly from the praise, but T’Pau continues.

“Humans are emotional creatures. This has yet to be proven as a disadvantage as thy actions, though unconventional by our culture, have brought together two worlds seamlessly.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say I had _that_ big of a part in it—”

“James Kirk,” T’Pau cuts him off, her voice so firm Jim shuts his mouth so fast his teeth click. “Thee is an off-worlder, but I do not doubt thy bond with Spock is genuine.”

“Oh,” Jim says dumbly. “Then if you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone making such a big deal about it?”

“Thee is the first off-worlder to bond with a Vulcan,” T’Pau explains. “There is a rationale of the unknown which is to follow. Thy species is driven by emotion rather than logic, and thee experienced events which have been previously hidden from anyone outside our culture. This situation is—rare.”

Jim lets out a little breath. “You can say that again,” he mutters. T’Pau’s eyebrows twitch, and he quickly backtracks. “It’s just an expression.”

“The line of Surak has often lapsed into emotional behavior,” she says almost wistfully. Jim thinks of Spock’s split parentage and Sybok’s outlandish demeanor—T’Pau was probably used to dealing with a bunch of _emotional_ _lapses_. “Vulcan love is like the various degrees of light; always present, touching but never touched, burning brighter through time. This is the first in what I predict will be a new line of intercultural bonds.”

Jim’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really?”

T’Pau inclines her head slightly in a nod. She’s not smiling, but Jim thinks she might be a little pleased. “Treaties are formed between planets for discovery and trade of knowledge. Thy presence upholds the possibility of racial peace. Thy _katra_ is kind and resilient. Live long and prosper.”

~*~

Spock cannot stand still. The nervous energy he feels is unrelenting, refusing to be smothered no matter how high he raises his shields. All control escapes him whenever Jim is involved. The closed door of the meditation room is just as intimidating now as it was when he was a child, practically mocking him with the preservation of ancient Vulcan culture.

“If you keep worrying, you are sure to collapse,” Sybok whispers out the corner of his mouth.

“I am not worried,” Spock refutes quickly, still staring ahead. “I am…slightly concerned.”

“What in her power could affect your link with Jim?” Sybok challenges instead, turning to face him. “You have not acted outside of our laws, little one. She cannot forbid you from your _t’hy’la_.”

Spock shakes his head, barely preventing himself from shifting his weight in unease. “I do not understand how the council even knew of Jim’s presence. I was under the impression his arrival was not publicized.”

“Ah,” Sybok mutters, glancing away. “That was perhaps my error.”

Spock’s head snaps to him. “What,” he whispers dangerously, “ _error?_ ”

“You were to mate with T’Pring,” Sybok says, his voice edged. “An action which could have led to your death. I was in the process of escorting Jim to you when I deterred her from your presence.”

“ _Sybok!_ ” Spock hisses, barely holding himself back from childishly stomping his foot. “Why did you not inform me?”

“You were too far in the _plak-tow_ for me to speak to you directly, and after you were occupied—”

“You withheld information that could have endangered Jim—”

“Your human is _hardly_ endangered—”

The door to the meditation room suddenly opens, causing both Spock and Sybok to snap to attention. T’Pau does not greet them and says nothing as she gracefully strides past them with her chin held high. Behind her, Jim steps out of the room with mixed emotions on his face. Sybok and Spock glance at each other before they both turn to Jim.

“What did she say?” Spock asks a little feverishly.

Jim shrugs his shoulders and rubs the back of his neck. “Nothing really. She just asked me about how we met and told me our relationship was important because it’s bridging the gap between our worlds, and then said something about my _katra_ …” He shrugs again and offers Spock a smile. “She didn’t yell at me, so I think we’re good.”

“I informed you thusly,” Sybok murmurs. Spock shoots him a glare, but his agitation finally ceases. T’Pau more or less approved of their bond. For once, Spock did not encounter the slander and disapproval of the high council.

It was…nice. Spock once again is filled with the extreme affection and love for his bondmate.

“Hey, Spock?” Jim asks. “When do you think we’re going back to Earth? Not that I want to leave, because this place is awesome, but I have no idea how long I’ve been gone and I’ve probably missed a ton of classwork.”

Spock’s lips quirk up. “I will arrange for a ship to passage us back in the morning.”

“There is no need,” Sybok cuts in. “I can pilot you back imminently if you wish.”

Spock quirks an eyebrow. He wants to ask how exactly Sybok is planning on getting a ship as he is clearly still being held under observation for past reckless accounts, but before he can, Jim chirps, “Great!”

“Sybok—” Spock protests, but Sybok derails the rest of his sentence by flicking him in the ear. Then, his brother turns and strides away, completely ignoring Spock’s outrage.

Jim laughs once at his offence and kisses him on the cheek to sooth him. “My silly Vulcan,” he coos. “Hey, when we get back to Earth, I can help you correct Bones every time he tries to make a poor comparison from here to there.”

Dry amusement tugs at Spock’s lips and he starts to step down the hall. “As you wish, Jim.”

~*~

Getting back to Earth was a challenge—between Sybok piloting a ship and Spock backseat driving, Jim suddenly understands why Sybok had been so keen on getting him a piloted ship for his first space trip. (“Sybok, you are flying with the inertial damper engaged!” “No— _now_ I am flying with the inertial damper engaged.” “Pay attention to your surroundings! You nearly struck that asteroid!” “Look at Jim—I didn’t know humans could turn green!”)

When they finally land in front of their apartment building, Jim tumbles out of the ship and barely holds himself back from kissing the ground. Spock seems annoyed, but keeps his face carefully composed as he walks off the ramp to where Jim is collapsed on the sidewalk. Jim keeps his eyes closed as the wind picks up, signaling the ship has taken off again.

“I’m never going anywhere with your brother again,” Jim moans, peeking an eye open to look at Spock above him.

“Indeed,” Spock says bitterly. He looks up, a frown pulling down on his lips. “Jim, there is a woman quickly approaching us.”

“Huh?” Jim barely has time to sit up before he’s tackled to the ground again by a familiar figure with a messy blonde ponytail.

“Jimmy, oh thank God,” Winona cries in his ear, her arms wrapped so tight around him, his lungs get crushed. “You were gone for so long, I thought you had died and I had no way of knowing—”

“Ma,” Jim groans into her hair. “You’re gonna suffocate me if you don’t let go.”

His mom pulls back but doesn’t let go of his shoulders. “Next time, you need to send me a signal by satellite or something so I know you’re okay.” She sits back on her heels and frowns confusion. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“Traditional attire from the House of Surak,” Spock answers from above them. Winona glances up and her eyes widen as she looks at Spock.

Jim scrambles up off the sidewalk, quickly pulling her up as well. “Ma, this is—”

“Spock,” she interrupts. “I know.” At Jim’s dumbfounded look, she says, “What, you think I haven’t been keeping tabs of what—and who—my baby has been doing? What kind of mother do you think I am?”

Spock’s eyebrow raises. Jim feels his face heat and quickly changes the subject. “What are you doing in California?”

“I didn’t hear from you for a few days and I panicked,” she explains. “I drove out here and your friend Leonard let me in to your apartment. This place is crawling with suits, y’know. I don’t know how you can stand being around so many government bigwigs at once.”

“You were on the team that built the warp core!” Jim shoots back. “Don’t they stalk you too?”

“I’m not dating an alien, sweetie,” she deadpans. She turns to Spock and raises her hands. “Which I’m okay with. Sort of. I’m working on it, it’s a lot to take in at once.”

“Jim,” Spock says, his tone flat but his eyes sparkling with amusement, “perhaps we should invite your mother inside so you can debrief her on your travels.”

“He has better manners than you and he’s not even from Earth!” Winona cries, playfully hitting Jim on the shoulder. “Where did I go wrong in raising you?”

“I mean,” Jim shrugs, “I _did_ view corn as a key food group for the majority of my life.”

She laughs and draws closer, kissing him on his forehead. “C’mon, mister universe. Let’s move this lovefest inside before the suits think something is wrong.”

Winona turns and heads toward and apartment building. Jim glances behind his shoulder at Spock. His lips are pulled up in a soft smile and he offers Jim his index and middle fingers.

“Welcome home, _t’hy’la_ ,” Spock murmurs quietly. Jim grins and presses his own fingers against Spock’s, feeling loved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this little series! I'm sad to see it go, but I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. You all get kudos in my book <3


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